Abandoning Hope
by girlreadsalot
Summary: Thirteen tributes are battling to the death in the 80th Hunger Games!
1. Chapter 1

**Alright, guys! I'm girlreadsalot and I adopted this story to from Grammar Hammer 13. I own a few of the characters and some others, like Coralie Alderly and Ryan Mellark, were given to me to help me with this story. I have decided to change the rules a little, because twenty four tributes is a lot. Each child in every district is required to take a test. And the highest score will be the one to enter the games! **

* * *

The sun rose over the mountains of District Ten a blurring palate of pinks, oranges, reds, and the indigo streaked through it like paint left on an artist's paint palette. The air was so cold Bandit Lee Highland could see her breath puffing out of her mouth like the smokestack on the freight train that rolled through District Ten once a year.

She shuddered and zipped her brown leather jacket up a little farther. That was what she hated about the mornings; they were bitter cold, followed by the abrupt and sudden heat of the day.

Her gruella colored Quarter Horse, Casanova snorted from beneath her. The cold didn't affect him nearly as much as it did her; he had a fur coat to keep him warm.

"I know, Buddy." She said reaching down and stroking his steel colored coat. "You have an easy day today. It's reaping day." **_Then_** it's back to work. She thought.

The work never ended on High Bar farm. It sounded just like the name; her father set the bar high.

Every morning before the sun was shining Bandit Lee, her two older brothers Louis and Flynt, and her younger sister, Dale were dressed and in the barn. They were on their horses and out in the fields before the sun came up.

Today, they were sorting the calves from their mothers so they could be branded and ready to be sold on the market when they matured.

Casanova's ears flicked forward and Bandit felt his body tense. Then she heard the yelling.

She clucked her tongue to get Casanova to break into a canter.

The gelding broke into a canter, staying sure-footed as he navigated the rocky slope. He loped off the bluff and into the field, which had a fire in the center and the sun for a light source.

Her older brother, Flynt (he was only a year older than her, but a year younger than Louis) was wrestling with a Lowline Angus calf. "Hold him, Louis!" Flynt grunted as he struggled to tie three of the calf's legs together, so it wouldn't get up.

"With this brandin' iron in my hand?" Louis demanded, "I don't want to become property of the High Bar Ranch!"

"Louis just do it!" Dale shouted, her black horse, Gambler looked like a shadow in the low light.

Before Bandit could step in to help, Flynt toppled over backwards and the balking calf started to trot toward the herd.

Bandit knew Dale wouldn't be able to hold back the rest of the herd and keep the calf from being lost at the same time, so she pushed Casanova faster and built a loop in her rope. She managed to catch the calf before it crossed into the herd. She dallied her rope and trotted the calf toward her brothers.

"Are you alright?" She asked Flynt, her eyes full of concern.

Flynt pushed his overly long brown hair out of his face; blood ran in thick rivulets down his face from a cut above his brow. He wiped the blood out of his light blue eyes, "Yeah." He said. He flanked the calf and tied three of its legs together so it couldn't get back up.

"Come do your job." Flynt snapped at his older brother, blood once again dripping down his face, soaking the collar of his shirt.

Louis's golden hair glinted in the sun, which was now in the clear morning sky. His green eyes flickered to his younger brother as he swung the branding iron as he walked. "Ma's going to be mad that you stained your shirt."

Flynt gave gritted his teeth and pinned the calf's neck down, so it wouldn't thrash again. He didn't reply though, he was one of the quieter members of the family.

After the calf was successfully branded Louis took Bandit's rope off its neck and let her coil it back up. "Where were you, Bandit Lee?" He asked her.

"I was helping Missy foal, if you _need_ to know." She said pinning her older brother with a look before dismounting her horse and walking over to Flynt.

Bandit wasn't exactly a spitfire, like her younger sister. She stood up for what she believed in and didn't let anybody push her around. Other than that she didn't really have much to say.

"Let me see your face." She told Flynt.

Flynt eyed her hands warily, "did you wash up? You're not touching this unless you did."

"Yes."

This seemed to satisfy him because he pushed his shoulder-length light brown hair out of his face and let her look at it. When Bandit poked it he sucked air through his teeth.

"You're going to need to get sewed up." She told him quietly.

"I figured as much." He said.

She went to her saddle and pulled out her bundle, and then she took out a ratty t-shirt and ripped off the sleeve. "Press this on your forehead and get home so mom can patch you up."

Flynt did as he was told and walked over to his bay mare and climbed on, then briskly trotted up the path Bandit just came from.

"Are we going to try to finish up with this herd before the reaping?" She asked Louis.

He gave her an "are you kidding me?" look. "You saw how that just went. We need at least four people to get it done." He turned to Dale and waved his hand to let her know to let the herd go.

"Where is dad?" Bandit asked.

"He went to the livestock auction. He's going to try to bring home a bull or two."

"What kind?"

"The ridin' kind."

Bandit's face twisted into a mask of confusion. "For what? They aren't very good for breeding…or eating for that matter. They're too tough."

"For the rodeo that's filmed for the Capitol. We're one of the livestock contractors."

Right, the District Ten rodeo, it was one of the Capitol's favorite sources of entertainment—next to the Hunger Games—that is.

"Did ya'll forget it's Reapin' day?" Dale demanded, fixing the two of them with icy green eyes.

"No." Bandit muttered.

"I'm glad I'm eighteen." Louis said mounting his sorrel and white paint gelding.

"Aren't you lucky?" Dale snapped. She then, turned Gambler and trotted up the path, her chin-length brown hair bobbing with every step.

"She's in a bad mood."

Bandit nodded as she followed her oldest brother up the path toward the barn.

* * *

"Bandit Lee sit down and have some breakfast." Lynette Highland demanded from where she was crouched, stitching up Flynt's face.

"Yes ma'am." She said. Bandit sat down and put some homemade strawberry jam on a biscuit. She was glad that her family was one of the wealthier families in District Ten; they could afford luxuries others couldn't.

Dale came stomping down the stairs in her light green sundress and cowboy boots…spurs and all. Her green eyes flashed, "I am _not_ wearin' this stupid thing!"

Lynette's blue eyes flicked to her daughter's. "Why? You look beautiful!"

Dale set her jaw stubbornly, a look that signaled for the rest of the family to shelter themselves

"Dale Cashmere Highland!" Bandit's mom shouted bringing a wooden spoon down onto the table mere centimeters from Louis's fingers, who rocked his chair backwards so fast he would have tipped over if Bandit hadn't reached out and grabbed it.

"There are people all over Panem who don't have anything nearly as beautiful not to mention _expensive_. You be grateful for what your father paid for and you wear it, and if I hear one more peep out of you, you won't be touching a single colt or filly until after the next roundup." She narrowed her blue eyes at her daughter. "Do you understand?"

Dale narrowed her eyes right back, calculating the time until the next livestock roundup. She crossed her arms across her petite frame and looked at the floor. She mumbled, "Don't call me Cashmere."

Cashmere was Dale's middle name; she wasn't very fond of it. But, her mother, originating from District One absolutely loved the name.

"Bandit, Flynt, go get dressed."

"Yes ma'am." They mumbled in unison before pushing in their chairs and running upstairs to their bedrooms.

* * *

Bandit walked with Flynt and Dale to the town square in the summer heat. She felt absolutely naked in the light yellow and dark brown paisley halter sundress. She was a girl used to wearing jeans and t-shirts, playing in the dirt, and being on the back of a horse.

It was strange to her how her straight blonde hair felt so smooth and soft as it fell to the small of her back, her eyelashes felt heavy with mascara and her lips slimy with lip gloss.

She and Dale split off from Flynt after a heartfelt hug and stood in line to get their blood drawn. The prick on her finger was nothing compared to injuries she'd gotten in the past so she let them take her blood so she could move on. But, she couldn't help but notice the nasty look Dale gave the woman who pricked her with the pin.

Bandit elbowed Dale.

"What?" The short girl demanded glaring up at her much taller sister.

"That woman was just doing her job, don't be so mean. I know mom and dad raised you better than that."

"Whatever." Dale muttered before ducking into the line to stand with her age group, which was fourteen.

Bandit shook her blonde head and moved to stand with her age group also. She was waiting for the District Ten escort, Kimi Landon to start her familiar spiel when she felt unease. She looked to her right to see the angry freckled face and brown eyes of Davey-Jo Westmire glaring up at her.

"Oh, hi Davey-Jo." Bandit said.

"Hi Bandit Lee." She sneered. Davey-Jo hadn't forgiven Bandit for winning the All Around Junior Cowgirl buckle at the rodeo last year. "May the odds be ever in your favor."

"You too." She replied narrowing her blue eyes back.

Kimi Landon appeared on stage, her black hair pulled back in a messy, yet professional bun. She must have been sweating to death in her fancy suit, yet she looked as young and as calm as ever.

"Hello everybody," she said into the microphone. Her sweet and gentle voice reverberated through the speakers. "Welcome to the eightieth annual Hunger Games." She smiled sweetly. "Before the reaping starts we have a video from the Capitol."

Bandit stared at the video from the Capitol, although she'd seen it a hundred times. Anything to keep herself from looking at Davey-Jo.

After the video stopped playing Kimi said, "now for the Reapings. The female tribute for District Ten is," She dug her hand into the bowl and pulled out a white paper slip. She meticulously unfolded it in her tan hands and then read the name, "Bandit Lee Highland."

Bandit felt the world look at her, she wasn't exactly one of the most discreet people in District Ten. She swallowed the bile that rose in her throat, and then walked toward the stage, her head held high. She was scared to death, but her father's voice rang in her ears, over and over. "When things seem like they're at their worst don't panic, you'll only make it worse. Keep your head and everything will work out fine".

_Keep your head_. She kept chanting to herself as she mounted the stage steps. _Keep your head_.

Kimi met her gaze, there was a certain sadness held in those kind brown eyes, like she felt sympathy for Bandit, but wouldn't show it. Great.


	2. Chapter 2 District Three

"What do you think, Mr. Coleman?" Berta Cooper's voice said, breaking through his day dreaming daze.

He shook his blonde head to clear his thoughts, "uh, sure." He said, hoping that was an acceptable answer.

Berta scowled at him, still clearly angry that he stole her vice CEO position for the electronics company. Her brown eyes were harsh and her tone angry when she said, "we asked if we should use the grant to purchase a new conveyer belt for Sector B or if we should replace the main riveter in Sector A."

He sat back in his comfortable office chair, "buy a new conveyer belt."

Berta gaped at him, her face a mask of shock, clearly that was not the choice she wanted. "But—"

"Listen, Berta." He said to the board member who didn't look like her name sounded. She was in her late twenties, with long, soft, brown hair that was currently pulled back into a bun, not a wrinkle or crease on her youthful face. He gave her his charming grin, "I can promise you I'm _great_ with my hands."

The color rose on Berta's ivory colored checks and she chewed her lip. "Yeah?"

"Yes." He assured her. "I'll have that riveter fixed in no time at all."

"You swear?"

"I swear." He grinned, shooting her a wink, his green eyes twinkling. He felt her eyes linger on him for a moment longer than they should have, but that was okay. His charm usually got him what he wanted. He turned back to the rest of the board, "what else?"

"The meeting is adjourned, Mr. Coleman." The Ancient head CEO said. "It's Reaping day."

Sawyer sat up in his chair, the realization shocking him like an electric current. "This was a fantastic meeting," he said quickly shaking each of the gnarled hands that were held out to him as he spoke rapidly, "we got a lot accomplished, I'll fix the riveter, new conveyor belt, blah, blah, blah. But now, I have to go I'm going to be late."

His long legs carried him down the hall of the top floor of the electronics company, he threw the door open that led through the factory and scrambled down the steel stairs. He grabbed a ratchet off a worker's toolbox and hurtled a conveyer belt, slid around corners (looking quite comical in his navy business suit), and ducked under two workers carrying a steel beam. He screeched to a halt in front of the riveter in Sector B before quickly diagnosing the problem.

He tightened a few bolts, then reached inside and adjusted a few wires and the machine worked like a charm. He walked briskly toward the exit, setting the wrench back on the toolbox where he found it.

When he got home his mother wasn't furious at his tardiness; she never was. She greeted her oldest son with a hug, and then turned her attention back to her sewing. "Make sure Sebastian is ready for the Reaping." She told him.

"Okay." He replied as he hurried up the stairs. He went to his bedroom, it wasn't big, it was fairly small for his size, but it was his room. It had been since he was born.

Their house wasn't large or fancy like the other rich families in District Three. It was small, with four bedrooms and a warm and cozy feel that came with it the moment you crossed the threshold.

No matter how many times he experienced it Sawyer still was amazed how home-like his mother managed to keep the house after his father died. His father had been a peacekeeper and was shot in a riot five years ago in District Eleven. As a result, his mom had managed to pour all of her love into her children and their house.

He dug through his closet, pulling out a purple button-down shirt, and a white, black, and grey sweater-vest. He changed out of his navy suit (something Mr. Whatts, who was his boss required) and put on the sweater-vest.

He moved down the hall and went to the bathroom and made an attempt to smooth down his unruly hair. No matter how hard he tried the sandy tufts always managed to spring up again. It had given Berta something to complain about a year ago after he got promoted, but she stopped bothering with that aspect of Sawyer's appearance a long time ago.

He went down the hall and pounded on his brother's door, "Sebastian, are you dressed for the Reaping?"

Sebastian's door sprung open, his silvery grey shirt fitting him perfectly, and looking like an echo of Sawyer when he was younger. "I need help with my tie." He said.

Sawyer knelt so he could help his younger brother adjust the tie. Have a six-five frame wasn't easy. With the skill of many days practiced, the oldest Coleman child made a knot with the tie, and then adjusted it on his younger brother's throat. "There you go." He said straightening up again.

"Are you ready for the Reaping, short stuff?" Sawyer asked fluffing up his brother's thick blonde hair.

"I guess." Sebastian said. He sounded miserable, and looked that way too. His blue eyes were cast down to the wooden floor of the hallway.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't want to be picked."

"You aren't going to be picked." Sawyer assured him. "You're only twelve and we've never had to sign up for tesserae."

Sebastian looked up at him with watery eyes, "you think so?"

"I know so." He assured his brother as he smiled down on him. He ruffled his hair again and said, "Let's go."  
He and Sebastian were headed out the front gate when his little sister, Sandra came running up behind him. "Sawyer!" She yelled, holding out her hands.

He bent down and picked her up. Sandra was only seven, and her light frame was no test for Sawyer's strength. "What's going on Sandy Sue?" He asked.

"Mom and I are coming to watch the Reaping." She replied, her green eyes meeting his. "I wanna walk with you."

"Okay." He said as he set her down.

As the family of four walked to the Reaping Sawyer let his little sister play with his hands. She was awestruck by their size, and fascinated with the scars that ran over them, from working in the electronics factory since he was twelve.

When his father died Sawyer's family needed money. They had been starving to death, because their only source of income in the house was gone. He had been walking past the massive factory when a worker asked him to come inside. They needed somebody with smaller hands to clear the jams out of the machines. It was dangerous work, one that almost cost Sawyer his fingers more than once, but he did it because he got decent wages.

As he got older he started getting bigger, and his hands wouldn't fit into the machines anymore. He was put onto the assembly line, putting together the Capitol's convenient devices. In his spare time Sawyer would dig through the scrap bins and find pieces of junk that could still be functional with the correct tweaking. He spent his lunch breaks inventing new things, and fixing the old.

One day Mr. Whatts was doing observations when he caught Sawyer tinkering. "What do you have there, son?" The old man asked.

Sawyer's face flushed, "it's just something I was making." He mumbled, trying to shove the device in his pocket.

"No, no. Let me see it." Whatts held out his hand expectantly.

The boy dropped the device into the CEO's palm. "It's supposed to be a camera that hovers and thinks on its own."

The old man studied through his thick prescription glasses. "How old are you?"

"Fifteen." He mumbled.

"Where would you use such a device?"

"Well, maybe in stores in the Capitol, or the Hunger Games." The blonde suggested, his green eyes ashamed to meet his boss's face.

Mr. Whatt's face lit up. "That's an excellent idea. Why don't you come have a chat with me, Mr. Coleman? I have a proposition for you.

That was the day he had gotten promoted to Vice CEO and head designer at the Giga Whatts' Factory of Electronics.

The reached town square and Sawyer let go of Sandra's hand and said, "Come on Sebastian, we have to go get our blood taken."

"Will it hurt?" His little brother asked, eyeing him reproachfully.

"Nah." Sawyer said, "It feels like a bee sting." He let the woman draw his blood, and he gave her a wink and a smile.

While walking toward the seventeen year-old section he saw a familiar strawberry blonde girl, talking with her friends. She was wearing a leather mini-skirt and a sexy tube top. He walked over to her, "Hello, Ciara." He said smiling at her, giving her all of his charm. "How are you?"

Ciara blushed and tossed her hair over her shoulder. She sized him up with her hazel eyes and gave a flirtatious smirk, "I'm great…now that _you're_ here."

He returned it, "Great." Her friends giggled as he leaned close to her. He whispered in her ear, "After the Reaping do you want to come back to my place? My mom is taking my brother and sister to my grandma's house. It will just be us for a while."

She smiled at him and leaned toward him, "I'd _love_ to."

He winked a green eye at her. "Perfect. See you then." He moved to go to his section, grinning with satisfaction from the squeals of delight from Ciara's friends as she told them the news.

There was hardly a situation where Sawyer's charm wouldn't get him what he wanted. He knew the girls found him attractive, and he knew that all he had to do was smile and whisper words into their ears and they'd be game for whatever he wanted.

Ciara and Sawyer had fooled around before, it was just hooking up. It wasn't anything exclusive. She knew that he was a hot commodity in District Three, so having an actual relationship wasn't possible.

He daydreamed through the entire video from the Capitol. He knew he wasn't going to be picked, sure they had to take a test but, he wasn't trained like some of the others.

The Escort for District Three, Jaxon MacArthur said, "Now, for the boy tributes." He reached into the glass bowl and picked a slip off the top. "The District Three tribute is…Sawyer Coleman!"

Sawyer blinked at the sound of his name. Then he started to feel sick. He was wrong, this was the one situation he couldn't charm himself out of. Nobody would volunteer for him, because a lot of the boys in District Three weren't too fond of him.

A rough peacekeeper grabbed him by the arm and hauled him through the crowd.

Sawyer came to his senses and wrenched his arm free. When the peacekeeper reached for him again he pulled his arm out of the way. "I walk by myself!" He snapped and headed up to the stage.

He felt a sinking feeling in his gut. It didn't look like he'd be hooking up with Ciara anytime soon.


	3. Chapter 3 District Four

Coralie Alderly woke up just before the sun, where the sky was a light grey above an even darker grey ocean. She stared at herself in the mirror with her sea-green eyes before pulling her hip-length blonde (with a little bit of brown mixed in) hair into a bun. She reasoned that her shorts and tank top were reasonable enough for a morning run along the beach.

She silently slipped down the stairs in her house, lightly jumping over the third step from the bottom, to avoid an obnoxious squeaking that would have surely woken her older sister, Marina, who would have been far from pleased. Then, she crossed the threshold into the kitchen and slipped out of the front door, careful not to let it slam behind her.

Without her shoes she jogged down the wooden steps and onto the sand. She instantly fell into a familiar rhythm, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth. Each step she took left a footprint in the damp sand. She was headed up to Keppel's Cape, a rocky section of the beach that was a hot hangout for her and her few friends.

When she reached the cape she had managed to gain a light sheen of sweat across her skin, the mild ocean breeze gave her goose bumps on her arms. She navigated the familiar, rocky, and dangerous path with ease. She probably could have done it in her sleep.

When she reached the top she smiled, revealing the slight gap in her front teeth. Her best friend, Cale, was sitting on a rock that had been smoothed out due to the roaring waves crashing against it during storms.

His slim frame was facing away from her, his shaggy black hair was blowing in the ocean breeze, his right arm wrapped around the waist of his girlfriend, Claire. "You're late." He called back to her without looking at her.

She walked up behind him and pushed him off his perch, "you beat me here _one time_."

He narrowed his blue eyes at her and hopped up lithely, a move he learned from training. Coralie knew that much because they had trained at the same time since she was eleven.

"I hate that there isn't training today." Coralie admitted, her eyes drawn to the sun as it rose on the horizon, turning the inky water into a pastel of colors.

Claire turned around, her dark blue eyes narrowed at Coralie. "Why do you to like to train so much? It's just a gym full of sweaty guys and a few…_girls_." She said the word "girls" like it was poisoned.

Coralie felt her rage ignite. She put her hands on her hips and took a few slow, menacing steps toward the brunette. "What is _that_ supposed to mean?" She demanded.

"I'm just saying you're too fascinated with slaughtering people. It's grotesque."

Coralie crouched, never taking her blue-green eyes off Claire. She felt a familiar crevice in the rock and discreetly took out what was hidden there and rose once more. "Is it too much to ask for a girl to bring pride to District Four?" She asked, her eyes flashing like lighting over the ocean during a storm.

Cale's face darkened and he shot Coralie a look telling her not to get too carried away. Her temper caused her to do that at times.

She didn't acknowledge that she had seen it. "There hasn't been girl victor from here since before Finnick Odair won the games. Not to mention," She extended her wrist, something silver flashing from her hand, and landing with a _thunk _in dried out driftwood Claire had been using as an armrest. "I can do _that_."

Claire looked to her black sleeve, which had been securely fastened to the log by Coralie's throwing knife. Her blue eyes stared at Coralie with fear.

Coralie causally walked to the log and pulled he knife out, inspecting the blade with keen interest.

"You're a freak." Claire mumbled, her lips barely moving, her face held the pallor of a dead person.

Coralie grinned at her and lightly caressed the blade against Claire's cheek. "Thank you. But, I'm not a freak. You are just afraid of me."

Claire rose, pressing her hand against her tan face. She inspected it, seemingly surprised that it didn't come away bloody. "You're right." She began to back away. She turned to Cale, "you have to decide what you want. I won't be your girlfriend if you're hanging out with this-this psycho!" She turned on her heels and scrambled off the rocks as fast as her body would take her.

Cale fixed Coralie with a flat gaze. "Well," he sighed, "There goes another one."

Coralie grinned lightly and sat down on the rock next to him. She basked in his familiarity as she twisted the deadly blade through her fingers. Cale was her best—and only—friend. He was the only person she fully trusted and she would go to the ends of the earth to protect him, despite the fact he was two years older than her.

"I remember when you got these." He said as two of his long fingers traced two of the scars that ran down her left bicep.

She smiled gently at him, remembering. "Yeah, they thought I'd loose the use of my left arm. Finnick wanted me to choose another weapon, but my heart was set on the knives."

They sat and listened to the waves crashing against the rocks below them and the seagulls crying overhead.

"Can I ask you something?"

Coralie met his gaze suspiciously. "Yes."

"Why do you always do that?"

"Do what?"

Cale rested his arms on his knees, "Every girlfriend I get, you always scare them off. Are you jealous? Be honest."

Coralie wouldn't admit it, but she was. It felt like every girl Cale got close to was trying to steal her best friend. She couldn't have that. "You're my only friend." She mumbled.

"Do you have a crush on me?"

She felt her face morph into a familiar mask, lax of emotion. She stood up and gripped the handle of her knife. "No."

He gave her a look that showed he thought she was lying.

"Seriously," she said, getting irritated. "I don't. I can't let anything get in the way of my training. Love creates nothing but a mess and I refuse to let it happen." She was returning to the familiarity of not feeling anything. Early in the morning it took a little bit of time for her to return to the proper mindset of a successful career. She felt the slightest sense of relief that Cale had brought the subject up, so she could return to that comfortable, emotionless state.

"Why do you do this to yourself?" He demanded, looking furious.

"I have to go. It's Reaping Day." She started bounding off the rocks when his voice stopped her.

"Are you going to volunteer?"

"Never." She replied, her voice in a state of monotone. She began running back to her Oceanside house, the knife still gripped in her palm.

"_Please_, tell me you aren't wearing that…_rag_." Marina demanded as she applied eye-shadow in the mirror.

"You wore it once too, Marina." Coralie pointed out to her older sister. Besides, Coralie's mom had worn it to her first Reaping, and Marina to hers.

"Yeah, _once_. It was the biggest mistake ever." She muttered in reply. "This is your third year wearing it in a row. It's disgusting." She gestured to the baggy, grey dress that Coralie was wearing. "You're too small for it, and the shoes don't match."

Marina was correct on both parts. The horrid grey dress hung just below Coralie's knees, she pulled her bleach-white knee socks all the way up, and wore black Mary Jane's to complete the outfit.

"You would look beautiful in one of my dresses. Put on my green halter dress." She suggested. "It looks fabulous on me, it would look somewhat decent on you."

Coralie looked just like Marina did when she was fourteen, right down to the beauty mark on their upper right lip. Except, Coralie was much smaller, and was often mistaken for being twelve.

"No." Coralie replied.

Marina, who had been finishing her makeup, shrugged. "Okay, suit yourself."

As Coralie stood in her age group for the Reaping she felt eyes on her. She didn't care, it was something that happened so often she was used to it. She always felt a flutter of excitement during the Reapings. Every year she shoved it way down inside her and ignored it. If she was reaped, she was reaped. She wasn't going to volunteer for anybody. Not even Marina, because she knew Marina would never do it for her.

The District Four escort clambered on stage. She was an older woman with wild red hair and too many facial lifts. She showed the video from the Capitol and then drew a name for the female tributes.

"Coralie Alderly!" She exclaimed in a somewhat raspy voice, apparently, she was a smoker.

Coralie smiled, not enough to make people think she was overly excited. She was rather pleased with being reaped. She made her way to the stage, still lightly smiling.

"How old are you dear, twelve?" The woman asked.

"I am fourteen." Coralie said, her voice expressionless.

"Well, Coralie, congratulations!"


	4. Chapter 4 District 12

_In his dream Ryan Mellark was running…more like desperately chasing the girl of his dreams. Her brown hair glinted red in the sunlight, swaying as it hung free. She was always too far ahead of him, because she was the fastest person in their class. It made him sick to his stomach that she didn't even look back at her pursuer, she just kept running, and laughing. She taunted him, and it made his heart ache. _

_ The girl stopped abruptly and turned around, like she was looking for somebody. _

_ Ryan's heart fluttered in his chest, was she looking at him? He slowed his pace and stopped a few feet short of her. He smiled at her and said, "I've been chasing you for a long time." _

_ She didn't acknowledge that she heard him, her hazel eyes swept past him, like he wasn't even there. "Hello?" She called. "I somebody there?" _

_ "I'm right here! It's me, Ryan Mellark!" He said, his smile melting off his face. _

_How could she not see him? He was less than two feet away from her! He said her name again, and still no recognition. Then, he was jolted awake by something landing on his chest. _

Ryan grunted and grabbed his stomach. "Jack!" He groaned, rolling over. He met the golden brown eyes of his Kelpie, and reached out and ruffled his fur. "That hurt!"

The dog stared up at him, his gaze unwavering, holding a look of innocence. Jack cocked his head to the side and whined.

Ryan rubbed his brown eyes after he had his feet planted solidly on the wooden floor. He ran a hand through his brown hair and looked around for a pair of available shorts, clean or dirty, it didn't matter.

He settled for a pair of khaki cargo shorts and slipped on his sneakers. "Come on, Jack." He called to his rust-colored dog.

Jack trotted by his master's side, eager to go outside. He practically ran Ryan over to get through the door that lead to the bakery.

"Ryan," Peeta Mellark said to his older son, his blue eyes very unimpressed. "How many times do I have to tell you Jack can't be in here?"

"Sorry, dad." Ryan said swiping a sticky bun off the counter. "I'm taking him to do his business. I'll be back in a bit to help."

Peeta smiled at his only son, "Alright, don't dawdle. Business will be picking up in about an hour."

Ryan nodded between bites of the delicious bun and fumbled with the door handle, his fingers slipped, then, on the second attempted had gotten stuck. He stepped off the bakery porch and polished the bun off by licking his fingers.

He walked towards The Hob, giving a curt whistle to Jack if he strayed too far. Taking Jack into The Hob always was kind of worrisome, but Ryan did it anyway. Sometimes it was hard to tell if Greasy Sae was kidding about turning him into stew or if she was serious.

"Ryan!" Matthew White said walking towards him, a grin stretched across his face. "Your dad finally released you from prison!"

Ryan gave his friend a questioning look. "Prison?"

"Well, he has you working like crazy in the bakery. You never hang out with us anymore!"

"Matt, there's only the two of us." Ryan replied, his hand lightly brushing Jack's short, red fur.

Matt blinked, taken aback. "Matt?" He asked. "You've been friends with Matt and I since we were in the second grade and you _still _can't tell us apart?"

Ryan squinted up at his friend, then shrugged. He grinned at him, "Sorry, Mike."

Mike smiled and elbowed Ryan in the side, "I was just yanking your chain! I'm Matt."

"I knew it!" Ryan exclaimed. "Where is Mike."

Matt paused at a table to trade a ball of yard for necklace beaded with glass. "Right about now, he's looking awfully uncomfortable while Sage Furver flips her perfect hair and flaunts her perfect bod' in front of him."

He found himself smiling again, Sage was definitely hot…but, he was in love with another girl. A girl he met at the same school his dad met his first love. The chances were that she wasn't in The Hob. Even if she was she wouldn't even know he was there, like in his dream.

"Why would he be uncomfortable?" He asked Matt.

"She thinks he's me, for one. Also, you know how he is…socially awkward."

"He's your _twin_, don't you think you should ease up on the hate comments."

"Well, it's true!" Matt said. "He doesn't have the mad flirtation skills as I do." He flexed, the necklace dangling from his left hand.

Ryan rolled his eyes, "Whatever."

They watched as Sage twirled her blonde hair around her pointer finger, her mouth going nonstop, probably not even to breathe.

Mike looked overwhelmed, his eyes were huge, and he was nodding vigorously, causing his dark brown hair to fall in his grey eyes. He looked paler than usual, and more…sweaty.

Ryan felt pity on one of his best friends. Then, and idea came to him. He strode over to Mike and said, "Sorry to interrupt, Sage. Matt will be right back, his brother wants—a—a new potato peeler for their mom and Matt's got all of the money."

He grabbed Mike by his shoulders and steered him away from the blonde, who stared after them with irritation on her face.

Once they were out of eyesight and earshot Ryan said, "Dude, you need to relax."

Mike nodded. "I didn't know what to do! She just kept talking, and talking, and talking!"

"Just sit."

Mike accepted the offer and sat cross-legged on the floor and stroked Jack's fur.

"Now," Ryan turned to Matt, "Go over there, tell her you saw the necklace and thought of her and give it to her."

"It was for my sister!" Matt objected looking at the necklace.

"Would you rather make it with Sage or your sister?"

"You're a genius." Matt said, and walked over to Sage, twirling the necklace on his finger.

He looked at Mike and smiled, "You need to relax more. It's why you don't have a girlfriend."

Mike snorted and rolled his grey eyes, "I don't recall you ever having a girlfriend."

He was right. There was only one girl in his life he would ever be in love with and she didn't even know he existed. Ryan's heart ached painfully at the thought. It was killing him knowing that he was in love with a girl he could never have. The kind of pain that kept him up at night trying to count the tiles in the ceiling. It was hard to explain to somebody who didn't know how it felt. Every time he thought of _Her_ there was a throbbing in his heart and a hollow feeling, promptly followed by depression. He ended up going into the pit of despair with every thought.

Ryan felt himself being sucked into the black hole of sadness that accompanied thinking about the love of his life. He realized he needed to go home. "Are you okay?" He asked Mike.

Mike nodded.

"Okay, come on Jack." He called to his dog.

As they meandered outside he glimpsed at the clock tower (it was the tallest structure in Twelve) and realized he'd been gone for almost an hour! He picked up a light jog and headed for his house, Jack running, not even panting, at his side.

He thundered up the Bakery steps and tossed the door open, his dad was handing Cray Undersee a bag full of sweets. He smiled at his dad and let Jack into the house.

He went behind the counter and washed his hands. "What needs done?" He asked.

"Bake two more loaves of sweet bread, then wash the dishes." Peeta said. He pulled a cake iced in simple vanilla frosting and started piping delicate flowers on the virgin icing.

Ryan did what his dad ordered, kneading the dough with the skill that came from years of practice. He knew the recipe by heart. He set the loaves in the oven and then hurried with the dishes.

"Why are you in such a rush?" His dad asked him.

"Dad, it's Reaping day." Ryan replied vigorously scrubbing at a mixing bowl.

Peeta froze, standing unnaturally still, his hand and frosting bag still expertly poised over the cake. He was like a statue, his skin pale, his body unmoving, his blue eyes distant under his gold framed bifocals.

Ryan knew that his dad played a part in the games all of those years ago, his father never spoke of the horrors he had faced. "Dad," he said, looking for any sign that his dad was back in the bakery with him instead of in the arena. "Dad?" It's okay, you're home."

Ryan gently laid his hand on his dad's arm, causing his dad to come back to District Twelve. "Are you okay?" He asked, his brown eyes meeting his dad's blue ones.

"Yes, I'm fine." Peeta said, looking shaken. "Why don't you get ready for the Reaping?"

Ryan nodded and ran a hand through his brown hair. As he walked up the stairs he remembered what his dad had told him when he turned twelve.

Originally, all victors and their families were immune to the Reapings, but Peeta and a girl named Katniss Everdeen had made the Capitol mad. Raging mad. They had planned to kill themselves by eating Nightlock when they were told that there could be two victors, a boy and girl from each district. When Ryan's dad and Katniss had been the only two victors left the Capitol changed the rules back to being only one victor. They thought it was unfair, so they were going to commit suicide, but the Capitol stopped them and crowned both of the victors.

To get back at Peeta and Katniss they revoked the rule that the victors' family and children could not be reaped. Now Ryan had to go to the Reaping every year, he was lucky he hadn't been picked.

He tore off his t-shirt and tossed it on his bed and pulled out his short-sleeved baby blue button down shirt. He realized he was going to be late to check in so he buttoned it on his way out the door, not even bothering to tuck it in.

When he got there he checked in. He stood between the twins and waited for the Reaping to start.

The girl he loved was standing just a few feet away, she looked beautiful. He was so busy staring at her he didn't realize what was going on until Matt elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

He was roughly hauled toward the stage by Peacekeepers, not noticing that he was mounting the steps. As he stood next to the Escort he felt extreme sorrow. He was never going to see her again.

In his head he clamped down on that thought. _No._ _I'm going to see her again even if I have to kill. _


	5. Chapter 5 District Two

"_Ugh_!" The sound escaped Lindsey Ardford's lips as she threw the knife with a deadly accuracy. A smile of satisfaction graced her features as the knife stuck in the dummy's chest. She was the only person in the gym at the academy. You weren't required to train on Reaping Day if you didn't want to.

"You know what they say," A voice said behind her. "Ain't no rest for the wicked."

Lindsey gritted her teeth and threw the remaining knife in her hand so it imbedded itself in the eye of the wooden man. "_That_ is going to be _you_ if you don't _leave me alone._" She said through gritted teeth as she turned around to face her cousin.

Slater O'Brien's mouth turned into a crooked grin. "Awe, don't treat me like that, Cuz. I came to see how you were doing."

Lindsey took him in, from his shiny shoes to the top of his fiery, red head. "Go away." She said again, "And take your smirk and cheap sunglasses with you. I'm busy."

Slater slid his sunglasses down his nose, revealing eyes that had once riveted her to the floor. He had Heterochromia, a disease where one eye is a different color than the other. His left eye was blue, the color he was born with. His right eye, however, was a muddy brown color. A color he had acquired in an unfortunate accident. "Busy hanging out with _all_ of your other friends?" He gestured to the vast gym, which was vacant.

"Friends don't do anything but get in the way." She said coldly. "And you and your friend are excellent examples."

"Aw c'mon!" Sparkie Sullivan's voice echoed through the gym as he walked in. "Don't act like you don't _love _me. In all honesty, I think there's chemistry between us and you know it."

Lindsey sighed walked down the floor to retrieve her knives. "Yeah, we're a chemical mixture that causes unbearable pain." When she got there she had to stand on her tiptoes to reach the knife protruding out of the dummy's eye.

"Can you reach it, smalls?" Slater called down.

"Or would you like me to get you a chair?" Sparkie finished.

In a flash of anger Lindsey yanked out the knife and hurled it toward the pair of chuckling idiots. It bounced harmlessly off the floor and skittered to a stop at their feet.

"You missed!" Slater called.

"I don't miss. It was intentional."

"Yeah right."

She clenched her fists at her sides and took a deep breath as she stormed her four-foot-ten frame up to them. She picked up the knife and shook it at the pair of them, fury glinting in her Jade eyes. "Next time, I'll make sure I hit my marks. And, if by some miracle, I don't strike you in the heart, I will slit you from here—" she took the tip of her knife and ran it up Slater's stomach, from his naval to his throat. The deadly tip cut the buttons off of his silver dress shirt, scattering them all over the concrete floor. "—to here."

The color bled out of Sparkie's face, causing Lindsey to smirk in satisfaction. She knew that the blonde was afraid of her, most people were.

Slater's response was a lot less satisfying. He started to laugh, "You don't scare me. What if you and I are reaped today?"

"I'll kill you before you can step of the pedestal."

"Well," He said in between laughs, "I'll see you at the reaping. I have to go change my shirt. Sparkie, are you coming?"

The blonde nodded and followed his best friend, out the door, practically a whole head taller than him.

Lindsey muttered something about them being stupid and put her knives back into their proper place before going upstairs in the Academy to her dorm. She had a room to herself at the Academy, mostly because nobody wanted to room with her. That was fine with Lindsey, she didn't like other people.

She put on a red dress that flattered her small, but curvy figure, then she sat at her vanity and brushed her waist-length, pin-straight, light-red hair. She had a lot of hair, despite that fact that people with naturally straight hair also had thin hair. That was the exact opposite in Lindsey's case.

She then proceeded to do her makeup, which she only did once a year, for the Reaping. If she was reaped she wanted to look good in front of Panem. As she was putting the finishing touches on her lip gloss a knock sounded at her door.

"Slater, go away!"

The door opened anyway. "You overly obnoxious pain in the ass, _leave me alone_!"

"Is that any way to talk to your father?" She recognized her father's deep bass the moment he spoke. It was hard to miss him actually; he was a rather massive man. He was five-eleven, and two-hundred and fifty pounds of pure muscle.

Lindsey's heart sank. As much as she didn't want to see Slater, she didn't want to see her father or mother either. She turned and stood up from the vanity. "Oh, sorry. She looked up at her dad.

Her father's mouth was set into a thin, hard line. "Apologies are—"

"For the weak. I know." She said.

"If you get reaped what will you do?" He asked, his dark brown hair cut short, almost military style on top of his head. He was District Two's head Peacekeeper, he had to look professional.

She felt her mom's demanding gaze as she answered mechanically. "I will cut down anybody who stands in my path to victory. I will bring pride to District Two."

He smiled, but it wasn't a warm, lovey smile. It was the way an arsonist would smile as he watched an orphanage burn.

"You have been doing well in your training." Her mother said, glaring at her with harsh green eyes. It wasn't a question. It was more of a demand.

"Yes." She was never short on words, or ever afraid to tell anybody what was on her mind…until her parents walked into the room.

Her parents had sent her off for training when she was ten. They expected nothing but perfection out of her, maybe because both of them were perfect and could have nothing less but a perfect daughter as well. They came to see her once a year. Reaping day. They would make sure that Lindsey knew she expected to be perfect and if she lost the games it was probably better that she was dead.

"Well," Her mother said, making sure that her dark hair was still in its proper bun. "Hurry to the Reaping. We'll be watching from the television."

* * *

Of _course_, the walk to the Reaping wouldn't be a quiet one. Slater and Sparkie just _had _to follow her there. Thankfully, she was able to separate into the sixteen year old section before she could throttle the pair of them lifeless.

"What's the matter Lindsey?" A girl by the name of Lacey Dixon asked. She was a sweet girl with black hair, smooth, tan skin, and kind grey eyes. Lindsey hated her.

"Nothing." She replied.

"You look like you just ate a bug. Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?"

"Yes."

They stood in silence as the video from the Capitol rolled. "Would you do it?" Lacey asked her. "Eat a bug?"

"I would do whatever it took to survive." Lindsey said between gritted teeth. She wanted to tell Lacey to leave her alone.

"The male tribute is, Slater O'Brien." The Capitol representative said.

Lindsey felt her blood freeze in her veins. Sure, she thought Slater was annoying, but he was her cousin and she was the closest thing to family he had. Her green eyes found him as he walked stoically to the platform. His face was an emotionless mask, one that he wore when things were bad and he was too afraid that his emotions would betray him.

"There he is!" The rep said, smiling. "Our female tribute is, Lindsey Ardford!"

Lindsey smirked with satisfaction, not because she felt happy to be a part of the Hunger Games, but because she knew that was what her parents would want to see. She made her way to the stage, feeling smaller than ever. But, she kept her head held high and climbed the steps.


	6. Chapter 6 District Six

The voice of Allen Gideon floated up the stairs, "Alexander Flynn, get out of bed!"

Alex pushed his pale blonde hair out of his face and re-adjusted his glasses. Allen thought he was over sleeping, but that was not the case. He had been sitting at his desk since eleven o'clock the previous evening. He was working on some new plans for the railways and subway tunnels in District Six and was on the verge of a break through.

His door swung open and in his doorway stood Mitch.

"You've been up all night." Jack said matter-of-factly. His cinnamon colored hair was getting a little too long, his hazel eyes reflecting the light coming in the window. He crouched next to Alex's desk and looked at him. "It's Reaping day, you know."

"I know." Alex said. "And because I'm one of the most valuable assets this District has the odds aren't exactly in my favor."

Jack said nothing, but stared up at him. They understood each other, Jack understood Alex more than anybody else could. Alex had always felt different, because he was a genius. Because he had graduated high school three years prior to his class. He worked underground in power systems, making sure Panem was getting electricity as quickly and efficiently as possible.

It was the way they understood each other that made Alex fall in love with Jack.

Alex hadn't even known he was gay until he started developing a close relationship with Jack. They had been best friends, even though most people thought Alex was stuck-up and weird. They had never even tried to give him the chance to show them his true self. Jack had.

"Come downstairs with me?" Jack asked, planting a quick, chaste kiss on Alex's lips. "We have a little bit of coffee left."

Alex pushed his white hair out of his face, and then nodded. He shoved the notes into a desk drawer and rose, feeling his joints pop and crack from changing their position after several hours.

Alex was shorter than the average guy, standing only five-foot-four. But, he supposed there was nothing average about him.

Jack, on the other hand, was five-eleven, making Alex look like a dwarf in comparison. Jack ducked to avoid hitting his head on the doorframe in the kitchen and poured Alex a cup of coffee. "Here you go."

Alex smiled and thanked him. "You know I can't function without my caffeine."

"It's like your morphling."

"Actually, some studies have shown that caffeine and morphling have similarities," Alex said. "When somebody takes morphling their body becomes addicted to it, and a lot of people get excruciating headaches if they don't have caffeine."

Allen turned from the stove, where he had been stirring scrambled eggs in a pan. "Really?"

"Really."

Allen was Jack's older brother; the pair of them lived together after their parents died involving an accident in the subway tunnels five years ago. Once Alex and Jack's relationship started to get serious Alex moved in with them to help support them. Sure, they still lived in the poor districts of Six, but they were getting by.

Allen passed a plate of scrambled eggs to Alex, who ate them gratefully. He hadn't eaten recently. It wasn't that they were starving and didn't have food, just, when Alex got involved in a project he often forgot to feed himself. The last thing he had eaten was a PB&J sandwich Jack had placed under his nose sometime in the afternoon the previous day.

"What are you going to do if you get reaped?" Jack asked, his hazel eyes meeting Alex's blue ones.

"Win…hopefully." He tacked on at the end. "I don't see anybody volunteering for me in the near future."

Alex recognized the look of cold determination on Jack's face, a look he was familiar with, but didn't like. "Jack, do _not_ volunteer for me."

"But—"

"No! I mean it. I love you too much, if you volunteer I don't know what I'd do if I lost you forever."

Jack swallowed his hazel eyes watery. "Do you—" his breath caught in his throat and tried again. "Do you think it will be any easier for me? I will have to watch you on television, struggling to survive, possibly—" He stopped talking and swallowed again, he seemed entranced by his eggs.

"Die?" Alex finished for him. "Jack," He said. When Jack didn't look at him Alex reached across the table, pushing his plate aside so he could clasp his hands. "I haven't been reaped yet. Nothing is certain, I'm smart, but somebody else may have the fighting skills that I don't have, they could have scored higher than me."

"Okay."

They finished their breakfast in uncomfortable silence. Despite the fact Alex had been starving he wasn't hungry after his argument with Jack. He found himself pushing scrambled eggs across his plate without thinking. Yeah, he was a genius, but sometimes it just felt good to sit there and think about absolutely nothing at all.

"You guys should get dressed." Allen said. "It's almost time for the reaping."

Alex nodded and made his way up the rickety wooden stairs, moving to his room. He dug around in his closet and found a decent shirt; it was a navy blue color. He put it on, ignoring the fact that it was too big and was a little bit baggy. He tucked it into his dark blue skinny jeans and threaded his cinch belt through his belt loops.

He heard Jack come in, "How do I look?" He asked, turning around and holding his arms out to be inspected.

"You look good." Jack said moving up to him. "I like it when you dress up, you should do it more often."

"Yeah, because I have a glamorous life in the tunnels under Six"

Jack stared at him, his lips pressed into a thin line. He reached down and rubbed up and down Alex's arms. "We're going to be fine." Jack said.

"We're going to be fine." He agreed.

* * *

They walked to the reaping, Hand in hand; they were past caring what people thought of them. They had been openly together for nine months. They checked in and stood together with their age group.

"Hello everybody." The Capitol representative was a man in his mid-forties, in a pin-striped, charcoal colored suit, his brown hair curled in the humidity. It looked like it was going to rain. "As you know, this year's Hunger Games is going to be different. Each of you has taken a series of tests and each of you has been given a score. There is a chance for a tie, so we can send two tributes if that occurs." He cleared his throat. "I have your results here." He held up an envelope sealed with the Capitol's emblem. "The tribute representing District Six is…"

Alex felt Jack's fingers tighten around his own. He squeezed back as hard as he possibly could, he didn't want Jack to slip away from him.

"Alexander Flynn."

Alex knew that this was coming; he knew he was probably going to be the one that scored the highest. He numbly released Jack's hand and made his way up to the podium, his face impassive.

"You must be Alexander."

"I am."

"How old are you, Alexander?"

He found his lips numbly forming words. "I'm sixteen."

"Well, congratulations, and may the odds be ever in your favor."


	7. Chapter 7 District One

"Look up, now pout." _Flash_. "Good! Now sit on that chair, cross your legs and give the camera a smoldering look, I want to feel the heat!" The overly eccentric photographer said, his orange curls shook wildly about his made-up face as he talked excitedly.

Lynette did as she was told, flipping her brown hair over her shoulder and eyeing the camera with her grey eyes. She was a model for the clothing made in District One. The people in the Capitol would get to see her in the dresses. She let the red dress ride up a little bit, showing some of her thigh.

"You. Look. _Fabulous_!" Sergio exclaimed.

"I know." She said smirking at him.

There was a series more of snapshots before Sergio said, "Lynette go change your outfit and come back in a little bit. Riley, step up to the plate sweetie."

Lynette rose, walking gracefully on her high heels. As she passed Riley she said, "Don't break the camera, honey." She grinned in satisfaction as she felt Riley stare as she continued to walk to the changing room.

"Amelia, get me out of this dress. _Now_." She ordered as she stepped up on the pedestal, her thin arms reaching for the zipper on her dress, but she promptly dropped her arms to the side once she felt Amelia's large, calloused hands grab the zipper.

"You're going to go out in the light green gown."

"Ugh," Lynette snorted, "That color is _not _flattering on me." When Amelia didn't say anything she gritted her teeth. "Amelia! You're supposed to tell me every color looks flattering on me!"

"Oh yeah." Amelia said her voice dubious. "Every color looks flattering on you, Miss Winters."

"That's better."

Amelia held out the dress Lynette was going to be modeling next, which she stepped into. It went to mid-thigh and had a ruffled light green skirt, similar to a tutu, the top was strapless, covered in sequins, and fit her body perfectly.

It took about ten minutes for a makeup retouch and she was headed back to the set.

"Lynette," Riley said as she met her in the hall, her hazel eyes blazing with fury. "Who do you think you are?"

"Well, for starters, ten times prettier than you—"

Riley shoved Lynette, pushing her against the wall.

As a reflex Lynette punched her in the nose, a crack resounding under her fist as it made impact. Blood started to flow viciously out of Riley's nose, but Lynette didn't stop. She pushed Riley against the wall, pinning her there by her throat.

While Riley gasped for air Lynette snarled, "I've been trained in hand-to-hand combat for the games since I was eleven. By hitting you in the right spot I can paralyze you from the waist down, and by hitting just a little harder I can _kill _you. And if you stain this gorgeous dress I will make sure it happens!"

Riley's face was turning purple, and her blue eyes were bugging out of their sockets.

Lynette sighed and released her. "I have to get back to Sergio," She said, leaving Riley holding her throat and looking terrified.

Lynette knew she was Sergio's favorite model, he had told her on many occasions, not to mention the fantastic paycheck she received every month, which was determined by how many people from the Capitol bought the dress you modeled in the magazine. Lynette had been the top model for the past two years.

"Sergio?" She asked after the shoot. "It's reaping day, today. Can I wear this dress to the reaping? I promise I'll have it back to you tomorrow."

Sergio wrapped a thin arm around her shoulders. "Anything for my favorite model, doll! Besides, that dress will look fantastic on you on television."

Lynette stopped walking toward the door and faced him. "Are you saying I'm going to get _Reaped_?!"

"No, doll, they shoot the crowd before the tribute is called and if that dress is in it—just think of the money!"

She smiled at him with perfect teeth. "You're right!"

The pair of them walked outside and she got in the car waiting for her at the curb. "Winston, take me to the reaping."

The driver, an Avox whose real name she didn't know for sure, nodded and drove toward city hall. She flipped down the mirror that hung in the back seat and made sure her hair was absolutely perfect.

When the black car pulled to a stop she stepped out, knowing she looked like model—well, she _was_. She checked in and stood with her age group. She stood among the other, nicely and somewhat overdressed District One tributes.

The Capitol representative stepped onto stage in a navy suit and skirt, her hair was a deep, deep red, her eyes were burgundy.

"Wool?" Lynette found herself muttering. "Who wears wool? I modeled a perfectly good chiffon suit last spring, sure it's outdated, but it would suit her _way_ better than that ratty old rag."

"Right?" The girl next to her said, nodding in agreement.

"District One's tribute is Lynette Winters."

"What?! No!" She objected. "This can't happen to me!"

The Peacekeepers grabbed her thin arm and drug her out of the crowd. "I'm only fifteen! I can't do this!" She cried. But they roughly hauled her up to the podium anyway. She yanked her arm away from them. "Let go of me!"

"Are you Lynette?"

"Yes."

"Congratulations."


	8. Chapter 8 District Nine

"Cyril come back!" An angry voice called after him.

Cyril just kept his head bent and pushed himself faster; the envelope in his hand was wrinkled. He looked around and climbed the ladder into the hay loft and ducked around the bales of alfalfa, which was popular in District Ten. He climbed to the top of the stack and crouched behind a bale, his small frame making it easier for him to hide from Thomas.

He heard Thomas cursing from the bottom of the loft, his fear of heights preventing him from coming after his little brother.

Cyril pushed his overly long dark brown hair out of his brown eyes and tore open the envelope. Recently, Thomas had been receiving letters from District Ten, he wanted to know who it was from.

He read the letter, stumbling over the chicken scratch and some of the big words. He and Thomas weren't rich enough to send Cyril to school. He sighed and slid the letter in the envelope when he realized it was just some girl who had Thomas had been writing frequently. He stood up and climbed down the green bales.

He climbed down the ladder and handed the letter to Thomas, "It's just a stupid girl."

Thomas's jaw was set into a harsh line, a lot of people said that Cyril and Thomas looked the same and that there was no denying they were brothers. They had the same, long, dark brown hair, the same baked-by-the-sun skin, and the same chocolate eyes. "You do know that it's illegal to open other people's mail, right?"

"You ain't gonna blab." Cyril said, standing tall, trying to look big, like his brother. He puffed out his chest. "If ya' do I'm gonna have to beat you up!"

Thomas laughed, his tough-guy façade melting away. "Alright Squirt, we have to bag barley and grind thyme before you can get dressed for the reaping. Got it?"

"Yeah, I got it. Work, work, work all of the time. Even on reaping day!"

"Yep." Thomas said, throwing open the barn door, revealing the machinery required for sewing bags shut, grinding herbs and other grains, and other equipment essential for District Nine.

"How about you fill the bags and I'll lift up here, sew 'em shut, and then stack them in the cart. After we're finished with chores you can get dressed and we'll drive Tabitha and this grain to town and watch the reaping."

"Okay." Cyril said. He moved to grinder, powered by a pony and threw some barley on the grinding stones. He smacked the pony on the hindquarters and it began walking in a circle, causing the stones to grind the grain.

It was a long process, but the pair of them managed to grind ten bags of Barley, then managed to load the burlap sacks of thyme on top of that in the cart.

"Cyril, put Bill back in his stall and bring out Tabitha. I'll hitch her up and you can go change your clothes."

"Come on, Billy." He said unclipping the pony from its usual post and leading it back to the stalls. He put the pony back in his stalls, giving him a handful of oats as a reward and moved to the next stall over.

Tabitha was a red mule, considerably larger than Bill with _way_ more attitude.

"Let's go, Tabitha!" He said slipping her bridle on. He pulled on the reins in an attempt to lead her out of the stall. The mule complied, but upon taking two steps out of the stall area she planted her feet and refused to budge.

"_Tabitha_!" Cyril said yanking on the reins. "We have to go!"

The stubborn mule lifted her head up and pulled back, yanking Cyril off his feet. He stumbled and landed in the dirt, Tabitha brayed in response.

He glared up at the mule and wiped the dirt off his hands and onto his jeans. "If we get hungry we'll eat you, you stupid—"

Tabitha moved forward, almost sending Cyril on his little butt once more, but he stayed on his feet and too her to Thomas. "Have your stupid mule!"

He clenched his fists and stormed to the farmhouse, Thomas's boisterous laughter following him.

He clambered up the squeaky stairs and moved to his bedroom. He didn't have any dress clothes so he changed into a pair of clean jeans and a light blue polo shirt. The shirt was a little big on him because it was Thomas's from when he was thirteen, the same age Cyril was now.

He heard the wagon's wheels crackling over the gravel and hurried down the stairs. Once he was seated on the sacks of grain, he said. "Come on, Thomas, let's go!"

The drive to town was a long one; it took a little over an hour. When they got to town hall he jumped down. "I'll be back! Don't deliver it without me!"

Cyril's favorite part of the delivery was the train. A lot of the time it had cattle and horses on it as well as machines, coal, lumber, and other things from other Districts. He liked to let the cows lick his fingers and he was fascinated by the massive machines that were always strapped down to flatbed cars from District Three.

He remembered the year before when he checked into the reaping for the first time. He hadn't been afraid to let them prick his finger, not even once! He held out his hand and let the lady poke his finger before he ran off and stood with the rest of the kids his age.

"Hi Jessie!" He said excitedly to his friend. They always saw each other when they delivered stuff to the train.

"Hi Cyril." She said, her green eyes looking him up and down as she fiddled with her red braid. "Did you get a new shirt?"

"Nope," he shook his head, "It was Thomas's before, and now it's mine. It's a little big." He scuffed his sneakers against the dirt. "Jessie?" He asked. "Are you afraid?"

"A little." She admitted. "Are you?"

Cyril puffed up his chest. "Nah!"

He heard his name called from the stage and instantly felt his bravery dissipate. He felt small as he slowly moved his way out of the crowd and up to the stage. He wanted to cry, but he couldn't. He couldn't let Thomas see him cry! He had to be brave.

"I'm Cyril." He said into the microphone. "I'm thirteen."


	9. Chapter 9 District Seven

Oakleigh had come to know the sound of the axe against the grinding stone as sooth and familiar. She could remember her father sharpening axes early in the morning, the screeching, grinding sound waking her out of a deep sleep. Then, she'd fall asleep to the sound and when she woke up it was gone, along with her father, who was already in the woods working.

Her father was sick now; he had a broken leg and was unable to work. Her mother, was trying her best to take care of him, so Oakleigh and her brother, Johnnie had picked up the slack.

She pulled the axe off the sharpening stone and tested the blade with her thumb. She felt the steel slice through her skin, leaving a thin line of blood. "Johnnie!" She called, before raising her arm back and throwing the axe so it imbedded in the tree next to her younger brother's head.

Johnnie let out a shrill shriek before dropping to the ground. "Oakleigh, what the hell?!"

"Don't use that language." She told him, standing up and pulling her light brown hair into a bun. She straightened out her flannel shirt on her curvaceous body and fixed him with brown eyes.

"You threw an _axe_ at me!"

"That doesn't give you the right to cuss."

"You're my sister, not my mother." Johnnie reminded her before he reached up and yanked the axe out of the gnarled white pine.

"I'm you're _older_ sister."

"By two years."

She shouldered her own axe and followed him through the woods. They weren't working today, because it was Reaping Daythey requested the day off, but they still had to cut down a tree for the woodstove at home. She followed Johnnie through the woods and up a hill, looking for the right kind of tree.

"If you can find ash or birch let me know. We live in an area with heavy pines; it will be hard to find one that burns hot for a long time."

Johnnie nodded under his blue ball cap and drifted off toward her left. He let out a curt whistle. "Chaos, come one!" He called out to his Saint Bernard dog.

She kept a mental track of the pair, but Oakleigh wasn't overly concerned with it. Johnnie was a big boy, who grew up in these woods. He wasn't afraid of being attacked by a bear, and neither was she. She and Johnnie had grown up playing in these woods from morning until night, until her mother called them in for dinner.

Her brown eyes scanned the forest and she recognized the grey, hard bark of an ash tree from fifty yards away. She walked up to the tree and circled it, checking to see which direction it would fall when they cut it.

"Johnnie!" She called out. "I've got one!"

"I'm coming, Oak!" She head Johnnie before she saw him.

They worked together to chop down the tree. It wasn't a large tree, but it was enough work to make Oakleigh start to sweat. She wasn't the skinniest girl out there, but she knew how to work hard and she didn't quite until the job was done. They loaded up the firewood on their backs in bundles and trekked back to the house.

They stacked the wood on the porch of the log cabin and stepped inside.

"Are you guys hungry?" Julie asked her children. Julie wasn't a thin woman either, she was quite large, but had a heart of gold. She stood in front of the stove stirring something in a pot.

"Yes, ma'am!" Jonnie drawled before pulling up a chair at the kitchen table right next to the woodstove.

"Take your hat off!"

Johnnie's face turned red as he reached up and pulled his ball cap off his head, revealing his short brown hair. "What are you making?"

"Sausage biscuits and gravy."

Oakleigh pulled out her own chair and sat down. "Mom, you didn't have to do that. I would have settled for something a lot less." The Gilbert's weren't exactly wealthy, but they weren't dirt poor like some of the others in the district either.

"Nonsense." Mrs. Gilbert said pouring sausage gravy over some homemade biscuits. She set the steaming plate in front of her daughter, whose looks she shared. "Now eat up. It's a special occasion."

"What's that?" John Gilbert Sr. asked hobbling into the room on his crutches. His right leg was bandaged and held together tightly with a homemade splint.

"Reaping day! Tell me, kids, you didn't forget about reaping day, did ya?"

"No mom." Both of them replied in unison, their mouths full of delicious food.

Oakleigh's uncle Wes had been in the Hunger Games a long time ago. He had been her mother's idol until the day he died in the games. He had made it in the final eight until he was killed by a mutt on the fifth night. Ever since their mother had considered the games a serious honor and privilege.

They ate the delicious meal, knowing that it would be their last one like that in a while. When Oakleigh finished she scrubbed her plate in the sink before hurrying down the hall to her room.

"What am I supposed to wear to the Reaping?" She asked herself. She opened up her closet and pushed stuff around. She sighed when her search came up empty. She sat back on her heels and tucked a strand of curly brown hair behind her ear, pressing her lips together. She went to dig into the closet once more when a solid mass of brown and white fur slammed into her knocking her onto the floor.

"_Oof_!" She wheezed, all of the air leaving her lungs in a rush. She tried to hide her face from the tongue that was going deposit tons of slobber on her face. "Chaos!" She cried, rolling on her stomach. "Johnnie!" She yelled shrilly. "Get him off me!"

"Chaos!" Johnnie shouted as he pulled on the dog's collar. "He's too big!" Johnnie grunted, finally managing to dislodge the enormous mutt.

Oakleigh glared up at her brother. "Keep him away from me." She said, her voice low, turning into a threat. Out of the corner of her eye she saw something under her bed. "Huh?" She clawed at it until it was in her fingers. "Yes." She sighed.

It was a dark blue dress shirt. She dug in her closet and found a pair of black slacks and put them on. She pinned her curly brown hair to the sides, so it didn't hid her face and slipped on a necklace and a ring. "Mom?" She called walking into the room, a bit clumsily on her high heels, which she only wore once a year for the reaping. "How do I look?"

"Beautiful, dear." Her mother said smiling at her. "Johnnie!" She snapped, a hand on her fat hip. "Your sister is leaving!"

Oakleigh rolled her eyes as she heard Johnnie clumsily come down the steps, tucking in his green shirt into his khaki pants. "I'm coming!" He announced, pushing his glasses up his nose. He hopped on one foot as he made his way toward the door, putting his black shoes on. "By mom, love you!" He called before shutting the door.

"You're ridiculous." Oakleigh muttered as they walked down the muddy roads of District Seven. "You have ADHD or something."

"What's that?"

"Attention Deficit Hyper Disorder."

"Attention Deficit Hyp—whoa did you see that woodchuck?! It was _huge_!"

"Case," Oakleigh muttered rubbing her temples in annoyance, "and point." They rounded the corner and made their way down the hill. They were almost to the city hall, where the reaping would take place.

Things were different this year. The gamemakers decided that the games would be more interesting if each kid in every district took a test causing them to get a certain amount of points, and the one with the highest score would win. Oakleigh didn't think she did that well, although she was definitely one of the best in plant identification and wilderness survival, not to mention axe throwing.

When they finally reached the city hall they checked in and stood with their respective age groups.

"District Seven's tribute is, Oakleigh Gilbert."

Oakleigh's brown eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, what? Somebody in this district had to have scored better than her! If she was the one that was going to bring victory to Seven, the district was going to be disappointed. She mounted the steps, her head down. This was going to be bad.


	10. Chapter 10 District Five

Jacob loved to run; he loved the feeling of the cold, wet air against his skin early in the morning when nobody else was awake. He had snuck out of his house, okay it wasn't technically _sneaking_ if your parents didn't care whether you were there in the morning or not, but this was the perfect time of day for him. He splashed through a puddle, the mud landing in droplets on his tan legs, but he didn't care.

The sun was just now trying to break through the rain clouds in District Five, but it wasn't going to succeed, making this morning particularly dark. He ducked under a chain-link fence and continued his jog. He jogged over the rotting wood bridge that used to serve as a train trestle, until the new one was put in. He slowed to a stop when he came across a familiar shape standing in the center.

"Hayley." His said, smiling. He loved the way his heart sped up every time he saw her, how his chest squeezed at the thought of her because he missed her.

The girl with wavy auburn hair turned and smiled at him, her green eyes reflecting the dim light. "Jacob." Her long hair was whipping in the wind, which he thought made her even more beautiful.

He reached out and put his arms around her, pulling him tight against her. "I missed you so much." He murmured, tilting her chin up so he could kiss her. He pressed his lips to hers urgently. They parted for him and their tongues mingled. When they pulled apart she looked up at him, her face flushed, her breath short. "I missed you too."

He sat down on the slick wood of the trestle, letting his legs dangle over the canyon below. "I wish we didn't have to do this." He told her, kissing her fingers, which were clasped in his own.

"Sneak around?" She asked him, giving him a sideways glance.

"Yeah."

"My parents love you, Jacob. They know about us, it's _your_ parents that wouldn't agree with this. You, the son of the mayor dating a ragtag girl from the slums of District Five. I think he'd have an aneurism."

Jacob sighed and ran his hands through his short, black hair and looked at her, grinning. "My dad would be perfectly fine with it—with _us_. My mom, on the other hand _would_ have an aneurism. I don't even think she knows I'm into girls. She probably thinks I'm gay or something like that."

Hayley laughed, the sound was so familiar, so comforting. They had been dating for four months now and made an effort to see each other whenever they could. When she saw him looking at her she raised a brow, "What?"

"I love your laugh." He told her, cupping her face in his hands, making it seem small, very, very small. Their lips met once more in a tangle of fiery passion. His right hand moved and found the small of her back, sliding her closer to him. Soon, they were kneeling, facing each other on the trestle. His hand slid up the cool skin and back down, tracing a pattern.

He felt her nibble on his lip, causing heat to course through his body. He pulled her even closer, as tight as he possibly could. She was driving him insane! When she started to kiss his neck he came unglued.

He pulled her away from him gently. "We can't do this. Not here." He pretended that he didn't see the disappointment in her eyes. "Do I want to? Hell yes! But, it's Reaping Day, and I have to go to a stupid banquet afterwards, and your brother would definitely kill me if something happened to you and—"

She stopped his rushing words with a soft kiss. "It's okay." She told him. "I totally get it. It isn't a big deal." She stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "I have to go and get ready for the reaping." She turned to walk away from him.

"Hales," He reached out and snagged her wrist, making her turn back to him. "You know I love you, right?"

She nodded, very obviously trying to blink back tears.

"When can we see each other again?"

"I don't know," She said, her voice thick. "I have to work all next week. Maybe sometime in the morning, like this? Or maybe at night, if you think you can sneak out."

He felt his heart sink at the thought of not seeing her for at least a week.

"Please," Her voice was full of hurt. "I have to go, Jacob."

He released her and watched as she sprinted away, behind a building, and out of sight. He ran another hand through his hair. "Girls are so confusing." He muttered before walking back toward his house.

The sky was a dismal shade of grey now, and it started to pour before he got halfway home. He decided that he should start to run, so he could get home before his mom had a fit. He jogged up the marble steps of the mansion and let the door shut behind him.

He shook his short hair, sending water all over the Avox at the door. "Whoops, sorry Micah."

The dark haired Avox stared after him with hazel eyes.

Jacob went to the kitchen and pulled open the fridge, his chocolate eyes scanning for something to eat.

"Jacob Brahmani!" His mother's voice made him stiffen and turn around, rigidly. "Where have you been?! Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"I was on a run, mom." He told her, a jug of orange juice clenched in his fist as he shut the fridge behind himself.

He saw her jaw tighten. She had long, dark brown hair, pulled back into a bun, and infuriated brown eyes. She was in a black dress, already for the reaping. "The reaping is in an hour! Hurry your scrawny behind up!"

Jacob almost chocked on his juice. "An hour?!"

"Did I stutter?"

"No ma'am!" He said quickly setting the glass down and sprinting up the stairs as fast as his long, slender legs would carry him.

"Matilda!" He called out. "Matilda!"

An Avox with curly blonde hair stepped around the corner, her head bowed respectfully.

"Did you lay out my reaping clothes, by chance?"

She nodded.

"Is Hahn out of bed and dressed?"

She nodded once more.

"Thanks!" He told her before ducking into his bedroom. He put on the chocolate colored shirt and black slacks, and the vest to match. He made sure the evidence of his morning endeavor was gone before he walked down the white-carpeted hall to Hahn's room.

"Hahn?" He asked knocking lightly on the door. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah."

Jacob pushed open Hahn's door to find the kid struggling with his tie. Jacob's family took Hahn in off the streets when he was ten. The boy was starving, sick, and blind. He and Jacob were both sixteen now. "You need help with that?" He asked the blonde with the unseeing eyes.

"Yeah." He admitted, turning to face Jacob, looking very fancy in his grey clothes that brought out the color in his sightless blue eyes.

Jacob's slender fingers skillfully maneuvered the tie so it fit Hahn just right. "There ya go, bud."

"You were out with that girl again. Weren't you?" Hahn asked.

Jacob stared at the blind kid, baffled. "What…how?"

"I smell strawberry on your breath. I'm assuming she wears strawberry lip-gloss. Am I right, or what?"

"Yeah. I bought it for her as a gift." Hahn and Jacob had been brothers for six years and it still baffled him how dead on Hahn's other senses were, like his sense of smell, and his hearing. "Dad is calling us." Hahn said, moving for the stairs.

"Oh, alright. I didn't hear him yell."

"He didn't. He told Matilda to come get us, but I don't see why she needs to come all of the way upstairs for us."

"Yeah." Jacob agreed.

It poured proverbial buckets at the Reaping. The Capitol Representative looked rather soggy and distraught. "The District Five tribute is, Hahn Brahmani!" She called out.

Jacob looked to Hahn startled, there was no way he could survive the games! He couldn't see for crying out loud. "I volunteer!" Jacob shouted, pulling Hahn back into the crowd. "I volunteer for him!"

He walked up to the stage and introduced himself, and told them that Hahn was his brother. His mind wasn't fully wrapped around the fact that he had just volunteered.


	11. Chapter 11 District Eight

Virginia Hawthorn waited for this point in the day, for the clock to hit nine in the morning so she could go home. Working third shift in the textiles factory in District Eight wasn't her idea of ideal, but she managed anyway. A job was a job, and as far as she was concerned money was money.

She pulled out her scissors and cut a length of yarn just as the bell rang, signaling the end of her shift. She three the scissors down, causing them to imbed into the thick, chipped, and stained wooden table. She gathered her belongings and made way for the door, not caring that it looked like somebody had shoved a rocket up her ass.

"Where are ya' goin' beautiful?" Mikey Stone asked as he punched out beside her.

"Home, Michael." She said, letting as much irritation as humanly possible creep into her voice. She quickly fixed her dark brown pony tail and headed out the door, slipping off her shoes the second she was outside. Man, she hated shoes, but they were a company requirement.

"You, know you can also refer to me as Mike, Mikey, and or, Rock 'n Roll Jesus." He held his arms apart, revealing his black t-shirt, which had some expensive band from the Capitol on it.

"Where did you find the money to pay for that?" She asked him as the sun warmed her skin. Sure, there were windows in the factory, but they were all dirty and gross.

"I didn't have to. It was a misprint."

"You stole a t-shirt?"

"No!" He said, his gold eyes wide. "Boss told me to get that mistake the hell out of the factory," He said, his deep bass voice made him seem odd in comparison to his short and thin stature. "So, that's what I did."

Virginia narrowed her blue eyes at him and gave him a sideways glance. "Mikey?" She finally snapped after he continued to follow her like a lost puppy.

"Yeah?"

"Shouldn't you be going somewhere? Like _your house_, to your girlfriend? Oh! I've got a good one, how about to your _baby_. You know the one that you got from being a hormonal lunatic?"

"Nah."

She pulled up short, her eyes narrowed at him. "Nah? _Nah_?! What do you mean '_nah_'? You should have wrapped it before you tapped it and you wouldn't be in the predicament!" She yelled.

"Cassie's mom is over at the house. She drives me crazy." He said quietly.

"Well, Michael, you have to deal with it." Virginia said before leaving him behind. "Tell Cassie I said hello!" She called over her shoulder. She was about halfway home when somebody grabbed her arm and pinned her up against the wall, a grimy hand pressed firmly to her mouth to keep her from crying out.

"Hello, _gorgeous_!"

She eyed the man carefully, he looked like he hadn't shaved in quite some time, his breath smelled of liquor and his hands were grimy and greasy. His blue eyes were bloodshot and his blonde hair was nappy in greasy.

"I've been seein' ya around." The man said, his eyes making him look like a lunatic. "You work at the factory, and I've been seeing the looks you give me from across the floor." He studied her and saw the obvious question in her eyes. "I know that you want me. Now, I'm going to take my hand off your mouth and you're not going to cry, right?"

Virginia felt her fury build, but she subtly nodded. The second his hand unclamped itself from her face she twisted his wrist behind his back and pinned him up against the wall. She kneed him in the groin and smashed his face off of the pale stone. "You're right." She seethed. "I'm not going to cry, do you want to know why? Because scum like you don't deserve to live, let alone deserve somebody's tears. You understand?"

When the sleeze-ball didn't answer she pushed his nose harder into the wall, causing blood to smear it. "Do you understand?" She yelled.

"Ow! Yes!"

She released him and stepped back, straightening her clothing. "Good. Now, if you'll excuse me I'm going home." She turned on her heel and hurried home, faster than she would normally go.

She unlocked the front door and threw her bag on the table. "Mom, I'm home." She called. She started to make her way to her bedroom when her mom stopped her.

"Where are you going?"

"To bed?" She said looking at her mom questioningly. "I've been at work all night and I need to get some sleep."

Her mother eyed her with careful green eyes. "Is that blood?" She asked pointing to a spot on Virginia's white company blouse.

"Yeah."

"From what?" She demanded, her curly red hair slung over a shoulder.

"Some cretin tried to mug me, so I broke his nose." It wasn't entirely a lie, she did break his nose, but he wasn't trying to mug her, that's for sure. He had been trying to rape her. Virginia knew she would rather be dead than let somebody do that to her.

"Oh."

She nodded and headed for her bedroom again. "Virginia! It's Reaping Day."

Virginia froze. "Are you serious?"

"I'm not kidding."

Virginia sighed and pressed her lips together. She nodded, then went to her room, looking for a dress to wear at the Reaping. In her room she found a white thick-strapped dress with pink roses on it and a white flower at the hip. She put it on and held her sandals in her hand.

"How do I look?" She asked entering the living room and giving an experimental twirl, to show her mother and her father.

"Great, hon." Her dad said, too entranced by his newspaper to notice.

"Lovely, dear." Her mother said, hell-bent on getting the blood stain out of Virginia's shirt.

She pressed her lips together and flipped her hair over her shoulder in annoyance. "Well, I'm going to the reaping." She let the screen door slam behind her as she walked to the Reaping bare foot.

She checked in and stood with the other fifteen year old girls and watched the Capitol Representative drop his cue cards. Virginia sniggered.

"Sorry about that." He said into the microphone, his face rouge. "District Eight's Tribute is Virginia Hawthorne."

Virginia smiled, she wasn't happy to be in the games, but according to the tests, she was the best candidate, and she was going to bring home a victory.


	12. Chapter 12 District Eleven

"Brent, lift up your end!" Coy Farley grunted as he struggled with the lifting gear on the plow. "This shit's heavy, hurry up!" He felt his face redden as he strained with the work. He could feel exhaustion coursing through his veins as every muscle in his body strained.

"I'm trying!" He heard Brent grunt. "Slide it toward the tractor!"

Coy did as he was told, eager to let the heavy contraption go when it was slid into the correct position. "Phew!" He sighed, running a hand through his strawberry blonde hair, causing it to stick straight up with sweat. "Jeez, that thing was heavy!"

"Yeah it was." Brent said, wiping his red forehead with his white wife-beater, which was also drenched in sweat. "It's also hotter than Hades's toenails up in here."

Coy cringed at the mental image, causing Brent to boom out in laughter. "Why do you have to go an' say stuff like that, Brent?" He asked, plopping his butt down in the red dirt. "That's just nasty."

"I do it just to watch you squirm." He admitted, sitting next to him.

Although it was only about ten o'clock it was almost ninety degrees in District Eleven. The cool morning air had dissipated quickly, if it had even been there to begin with. It was drier than usual and the heat was baking him alive.

"Burlson, Farley!" A voice barked. "Get your ass up into them trees and cover 'em with a net before the birds flock to 'em to find shade and end up eatin' all of the fruit!" The voice was Coy's boss, Richard Riltmore

"Yes sir." Coy said before jumping up.

"I remember when I was like you, kid." Brent said, heaving his massive frame up. "You always have tons of energy and you're not afraid to work hard. You always call men "sir" and ladies "ma'am". I'm surprised you ain't got a girl yet."

Coy smiled at his friend and co-worker as he shimmied up a pear tree. "Well, my mama raised me right, I guess. Hand me that net, will ya'?"

Brent nodded and scratched his dark mustache before throwing one end of the net up to him. "How old are you, son?"

"Sixteen, sir." Coy said securing one end of the net to a branch and going to work meticulously covering each branch of the tree, before making sure no birds could get in it and climbing the next one. "This work is gonna take hours." He said to himself.

"You say somethin' slim?"

"It's going to take a long time to get these trees done and today is Reaping Day. That's all."

"Reaping Day? What time does that start?"

"Around noon, I'm guessing." He plucked rotted pear off the tree and pelted Brent with it and cackled when it broke on his white cowboy hat. "That was a gift to you!"

Brent cussed and flicked off his hat. "Boy, if I wasn't fifty pounds overweight and I was young again I'd climb on up there and throw your ass out!"

"Mr. Burlson," Richard's voice said as he came out of a tree. "There ain't to be that kind of talk to your fellow co-workers." He chuckled, "Especially one that can kick ya' in the shins and then out run ya'. Mr. Farley." He said looking up in the tree with kind brown eyes. "Here's your paycheck, head on home and get ready for the Reapin' and I sure do hope to see you here again tomorrow, son."

Coy jumped out of the tree, landing lightly. "Thank you, sir." He said shaking his boss's hand before taking his paycheck. "I sure hope so, too."

He turned and started walking for home, his house was located outside of Richard's orchards and across the road. It only took him ten minutes to walk there.

Coy opened up the door and was welcomed home to utter chaos, as per usual.

"Clay! Get down from there!" His mother demanded while his younger brother was literally using the light fixture as a swing. "Clarissa! Stop pulling Caty's hair!" His mother saw him standing in the doorway taking in the scene and smiled. "Coy! You're home early."

"It's Reaping Day." He told her before reaching up and pulling Clay off the light. He set him on the wood floor. "You know better than that! Say your sorry to mom."

Clay turned around, his brown eyes fixed on the floor. "Sorry, ma."

"Apology accepted, now go tell Clarissa and Caty to get ready for the Reaping. Clinton!" She called. "Clinton Farley get down here and get dressed for the Reaping!"

Coy smiled, his house was chaotic and insane, and utter mayhem, but that's where he felt at home. For as long as he could remember his house had been like this, his mom trying to keep order while his younger siblings took full advantage of their dad being at work.

He kissed his mom on her blonde head. "I'm goin' to get changed, mom."

She smiled up at him, the smile reaching her blue-green eyes. The same eyes Coy had inherited. "Alright, Coy."

He hurried upstairs and opened up the bedroom door to find his younger brother Clinton making out with his girlfriend…on his bed. "What the hell are you doing?"

"What's it look like?" Clinton drawled.

"Rachel," Coy said touching the brunette's shoulder. "I think it's time for you to head home. It's Reaping Dayand we all have to get ready."

Rachel nodded, her face flamed red. "I'm really sorry." She muttered before she rushed out of the room.

"What the hell was that for?!" Clinton demanded his green eyes blazing under his brown hair.

"What do you think?" Coy demanded. "It's Reapin' Day Clinton! And you and your girlfriend need to stop pawin' at each other every chance you get! Especially when you're on my bed! Ain't nobody wanna sleep on that!"

It took Coy a minute to register the sharp pain in his face. He pressed a hand to it. "Did you just _hit _me?"

Clinton grinned at him mischievously. "Well I sure as hell didn't invite you to dinner!"

"You!" Coy spat before tackling his younger brother off his bed. They rolled on the floor, tusseling until Caty's voice called, "Mom! Coy and Clinton are fightin' again!"

"_Boys_!"

Clinton rolled off of Coy and onto the floor. "Sorry, ma!" He called.

Coy shared a look with his brother and they started to laugh. They laughed until their sides hurt and until Coy had tears rolling down his red face. "Alright, let's get dressed."

They got dressed and hurried down the stairs, meeting with their twin sisters, Clarissa and Caty at the door. It was their first Reaping.

"You boys look dashing!" Coy's mother gushed, straightening his tie. "Now, girls you listen to the boys and they'll tell you what to do, okay?"

The twins nodded and they headed for the Reaping.

Coy found it hard to pay attention, but when his name was called he snapped to immediately. "What?"

"Come on, kid. You're going in the games." A peacekeeper said, hailing him roughly by the shirt until he was on stage.

"I—I'm Coy Farley, and I'm sixteen." He said nervously into the Microphone.


	13. Chapter 13: Goodbyes Part I

**Alright guys, from here on out everything is going to be luck of the draw! The point of views, the train rides, eventually the games. I have their names written on slips and I'm pulling them out of a hat to see who's point of view it will be in. When they enter the games it will go the same way for who gets killed as well...okay, maybe. I have some interesting ideas and some of the tributes need to stay alive.**

* * *

_**District 12, Ryan Mellark**_

Ryan paced back and forth in the room anxiously, he was waiting for somebody—anybody! The door burst open and he saw the pale, grim face of Peeta Mellark. "Dad!" He cried, grabbing him in a hug.

"You're going to be okay, son." Peeta assured him. "Either Katniss or Haymitch is going to be your mentor. You listen to them, do what they say. Do you understand?" He asked, holding his son at arm's length to look at him. "You're going to come home."

"Yeah, dad." He said. "I'll come home for you. I promise."

He smiled at his son, but it wasn't a real smile. It didn't reach his eyes, he still looked cold and worry-ridden. "I love you. Trust your gut, son."

"Okay."

Peacekeepers entered and tried to usher Peeta away.

"Dad!" Ryan cried, tears starting to brim. "Take—" his voice cracked. "Take care of Jack for me."

"I will."

"I love you dad!" He yelled, just as the door shut in his face.

_**District 4, Coralie Alderly**_

Coralie stood staring out the window, gazing out at the ocean. There was no expression on her face, but she was rather pleased with being reaped. Her heart thudded excitedly. The door opened and her mother, father, and sister came in.

"Congratulations, darling." Her father said, wrapping his arm around her. "You're going to be excellent. Do you know why?"

She didn't answer him, just stared up at him with green-blue eyes.

"You're going to win."

Her mother looked a little upset, but she still smiled. "We think you'll do excellent. You're the best, just remember that. That is why you were picked out of all the others in District Four."

Coralie blinked.

"Don't die." Marina sneered before the three of them were ushered out of the room.

Coralie turned her attention back to the window and the door opened once again. "What are you doing here?" She asked without looking. She assumed it was Marina coming back to be an evil older sister.

"I came to wish you luck."

Coralie whirled around at the sound of Cale's voice. "Why?"

"Because you're my friend." He told her, his light blue eyes raking up and down her. "I know you can do this Coralie." He wrapped her in a hug.

She stiffened like a board, but then rigidly put her arms around his thin frame.

_**District 8, Virginia Hawthorne**_

"Don't worry about me, mom." She said as the door opened. "I know I can do this."

She could hear the thickness in her mom's voice. She knew her mother was crying. "You haven't had any training of any kind. How do you expect to beat the careers?"

"Mom," She said, pinning her mother with a solid gaze after giving a brief glance at her father. "I broke a guy's nose today with my bare hands. I'm not too worried about it. I was picked for this. I can do it."

"You're darn right you can!" Her dad said smiling at her. "Tanya, we didn't raise a wimp for a girl. She can take care of herself."

Virginia smiled at her dad. "Thanks dad."

_**District 7, Oakleigh Gilbert**_

"Mom I can't do this!" Oakleigh pleaded, her brown eyes wide. Her face was read, her throat felt like she had swallowed a whole watermelon. She was going to cry.

"Yes you can!" Her mother said gripping her shoulders in her meaty hands and giving her a hard shake. "You have it in your blood! Your uncle made it to the finale eight, you can win this!"

"Who are you kidding? Look at me! I'm not skinny, athletic, or fast like any of the other tributes. I won't even make it through the bloodbath!"

"You did pretty good when you threw that axe at my head earlier." Johnnie piped up, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "If you get ahold of one of them you'll be unstoppable."

"Your brother's right." Her mom said firmly. "What would your father say if he were here instead of laid up on the couch?"

"He'd tell me to make allies and to fight dirty." She muttered through numb lips.

"That's right. So, if you have to play the game dirty, do it. We'll be cheering you on the entire way."

"Okay, mom."

_**District One, Lynette Winters**_

"Mom, you have to do something!" Lynette shrieked. She patted her hair frantically and smoothed down her dress. "A mistake has been made, they read the slip wrong. _Something_!"

"I'm sorry dear," Her mother said from underneath her fur coat. "But you see, great things are going to come from this. Think of all the money we'll have when you win! You'll be a star, everybody in Panem will see you on television."

Lynette paused. She hadn't thought of that before. She would be a star! She would be on television twenty-four-seven! Everybody in the Capitol would know her name! She smiled. "I have had a little bit of training."

"You have." Her mother agreed. Her brown eyes scanned the dank room in the Town Hall and she curled her nose. "This is disgusting, hopefully your arrangements will be much more lavish than this."

"It is dreadful." Lynette agreed, feeling the damp chill of the room in her bones. "I'm going to be famous, mom."

"You are indeed. And you know what, there was a reason you scored really high on the series of tests. The judges liked something about you."

Lynette didn't tell her mom what she had to do to get a good score. It hadn't been exactly lady-like, or very Christian. But, she hadn't wanted _this_. To actually be reaped. She just wanted to have a better score than most people.

"Yes, they did."

_**District 11, Coy Farley**_

"If you twist your hay anymore you're going to permanently damage it." Clinton's voice drawled from the doorway.

Coy's head snapped up to find his brother leaning on the doorframe. "Clinton! I can't believe this happened to me."

Clinton grinned sadly. "Me neither. Ma's in tears, Clarissa and Caty are crying because she's crying and Clay—well, I don't think he even knows what's going on. He keeps talking about picking apples with you next week."

Coy swallowed the lump building in his throat. "Just, out of all the people, _me_."

Clinton sat down in the upholstered chair across from him, he fanned himself with a stack of papers. "Do you think it'll be this hot in the Capitol?"

"I don't know."

"Let's hope not."

Coy looked at his brother in exhasperation. "How can you talk about the weather, when I'm going to _die_?"

Clinton leaned forward, his eyes bright. "You wanna know why? Because I believe that you can do this! You have survived outside, you can identify edible and poisonous plants, because you're my big brother. Most of all, because—because I need you back."

"I know."


	14. Chapter 14: Goodbyes II

_**District 2, Lindsey Ardford and Slater O'Brien**_

"Will you say something? _Anything_?!" Lindsey demanded, throwing her hands up in the air. She couldn't take any more of Slater's passive-ness. She couldn't handle the emotionless mask he was wearing. She needed him to crack jokes and to poke fun and of all things, annoy her.

"What is there to say?" He asked. "You're going to win this."

"What about you?"

"I don't stand a chance."

"Says who?"

"Me. I'm not like you, Lindsey. I can't just throw knives at people and hope they stick. I can't hit people. It sends me into flashbacks." He uncrossed his arms and ran a hand through his dark red hair. "Do you want to know what will happen in I get hit in the head hard enough? I loose sight in my right eye! That will throw my depth perception off, that will give my opponent the perfect opportunity to stab me."

"How do you feel about the tie?"

"The what?"

"The tie in our scores. We had the same exact score, so we both have to be in the games. Don't you think—"

The door opened and Lindsey's parents walked in, both of them wearing extremely proud looks. "We're so proud of you, Lindsey. You too, Slater."

"You two are careers, you're going to bring home the gold!" Her dad said, beaming.

_**District 3, Sawyer Coleman**_

"Sawyer!" The door burst open and Sandy threw herself at him. "Don't go Sawyer, please don't go!" She wailed.

"Hey now," he said, setting her on his knee. "I'm not going anywhere. Okay?" His green eyes flitted to Sebastian, who was standing stone-faced in the doorway. "I'll be back."

"Mom," He addressed the woman, who's age showed now, more than it had half an hour ago. "You aren't going to need to borrow money for any reason." He told her. "I have enough money for you guys to live well. Got it?"

She nodded, tears leaking down her face. "I love you, son." She said, wrapping him in an very tight hug.

He hugged her back, his sheer size engulfing her. "I love you too, mom."

"Here, take these." She pulled something out from around her neck and folded it in his massive palm.

He opened his palm to reveal a set of dog tags. "Are these—"

"You're father's dog tags." She said swallowing. "Hopefully they'll bring you more luck than they did him."

"Hopefully." He echoed.

_**District 5, Jacob Brahmani**_

Jacob had been standing silently in the room, next to the fireplace. He was hoping somebody would come and talk to him. Actually, he was hoping that Hayley would come and see him. He needed to tell her goodbye. They couldn't end on the sour note they had today. God, he felt so stupid.

"Jacob!"

Relief washed through him at the sound of her voice. He grabbed her and wrapped his arms around her. "Hayley, my god!"

She kissed him hard on the mouth. "Jacob, I'm so sorry. I need you to come back, for me." She was crying, the tears rolling out of her green eyes.

"Shh," He cooed, kissing them away, tasting their salt. He kissed her lips over and over between "It's going to be okays" and the "I love yous"

The door opened again, but he didn't care who it was. He continued to try and sooth Hayley.

"Who are you?" He heard the incredulous voice of his mother.

"Are we interrupting something?" His dad asked.

Hayley's face turned an even darker red as she unwrapped her legs from around him and stood on the floor. "I'm sorry, I—"

"Mom, Dad, Hahn," He said interrupting her. "This is my girlfriend, Hayley, and I love her _so_ much."

His dad smiled, so did Hahn, but his mother gaped like a fish.

"Jacob, come back to me." She whispered to him, before tiptoeing out and around his mother.

"How long have you been dating?" His mother demanded.

"Four months." He replied. He wasn't sure how well that news was going to go over.

_**District 9, Cyril Schist**_

Cyril had never felt so tiny in his entire life. He knew that he was reaped and he was going into the games, and he probably wasn't going to come back out. He was curled into the corner of the sunny room, his knees up to his chest and his arms hiding the tears that ran down his face. He couldn't help it! He was so scared.

The door opened. "Cyril?" Thomas asked, looking around the room. "Cyril, where are you?"

"I'm over here." He rose to his feet, trying to wipe away the remains of the tears, but they more kept coming. "Thomas," His voice cracked. "I'm scared!" He threw himself into his older brother's strong arms and wailed into his shirt.

"I don't wanna die!"

"I know." Thomas crooned, stroking his little brother's dark hair. "I know, buddy, I know. You've gotta listen to your mentor, okay?"

Cyril nodded. "Yeah."

_**District 10, Bandit Lee Highland**_

The door burst open and Bandit Lee breathed a sigh of relief. "Louis! Help me, I don't know what to do! I don't know how to use a knife, or a sword, or spear, or—"

Louis covered her mouth with his hand, silencing her. "You're gonna be fine. When you get to the Capitol, train with a bow and arrow. You can use a bull whip like nobody's business, it's kind of the same principle. You have hand-eye coordination."

She nodded, and he removed his hand.

"I'm going to try and keep sponsors going your way." Flynt said, his blue eyes like a cool drink of water. "We'll do everything in our power on this end."

Bandit nodded. "Dale—"

"I'll take care of Casanova for you." She said, her green eyes showed no sign of tears, but anybody who knew her would notice the way she squinted when she was trying not to cry.

"Thanks." She gathered them in a group hug. "I love you all."

_**District 6, Alexander Flynn**_

Alex couldn't stop pacing, it was impossible. He had paced across the room with bookshelves 324 times. Where was Jack? He couldn't help but wonder. He paused at the bookshelf and thumbed through a book, it was about the rebellion, before the Hunger Games started. It was boring, he'd read the book before. Just as he was putting the book back on the shelf the door opened.

Jack stood with his hands buried deep in his pockets of his slacks, looking awkward and uncomfortable in his dress shirt. He smiled, causing his cheeks to dimple, even though it didn't reach his hazel eyes. "I should have known you'd be reading a book."

"I've already read it." Alex said, reaching for one of Jack's hands and pulling him all of the way into the room, so the door would shut behind him.

"This is it."

"This is it." Alex agreed, tossing his white-blonde bangs out of his eyes. "Don't worry, though. I can win this just by playing it smart. Most of the other tributes are idiots."

"Yeah." Jack wouldn't meet Alex's gaze.

"Jack," Alex said, gently cupping his boyfriend's chin so he had to look at him. "I'll be back, don't you worry."

"I won't. But, here's a kiss to keep you from forgetting me."


	15. Chapter 15: Train Rides Part I

_**Slater, Cyril, and Coralie**_

Slater sat back in his chair and crossed his ankles on the polished coffee table. He was reading the newspaper from the Capitol, but it was about three weeks old. He didn't care, just read it for the comics anyway. Lord knows he could use a laugh, especially now that he was stuck on a train with an obnoxious kid from District Eleven and a creepy girl from Four.

"Why do you have those glasses on?" The kid—Cyril—asked. His dark brown eyes looking at Slater with curiosity.

Slater leered over the top of his paper at him. "Because I like them."

"They are pretty cool." Cyril agreed, sitting in the chair across from him.

Slater grinned at the kid and put his paper down. "Why were you picked for the games?"

"I think it's because I'm a super fast runner."

"Really?"

"Yep. Why were you picked for the games?"

"You know, I'm not sure. I think it's because I'm good with a sword and a spear. I've been training for a while now." He looked over by the dining room table, where the small, blond Coralie Alderly was sitting, staring out the window. She reminded Slater of Lindsey, except for the fact that Coralie was a little bit taller, and _a lot_ quieter. "What about you, blondie? Did you train on District Four?"

If she heard him, she didn't acknowledge it.

"Psh, bitch." He muttered.

Instantly, Coralie's head snapped up and she was running across the train car. She jumped on Slater, causing his chair to tip over. "What did you just call me?" She demanded, her blue-green eyes fierce. Her thumb was pressing into his throat. Hard.

He knew answering her would give her satisfaction, or make her kill him. She acted like Lindsey, he knew how to handle this situation. He grinned up at her and said, "You know, most of the time I'd be more than pleased to have a pretty blonde sitting on top of me."

She flung her hand back and smacked him, causing it to sting. "I'm only fourteen you pig!" She snapped before jumping off of him and storming out of the car.

Slater sat up, chuckling as he rubbed his throat. "Yep, I'm not scared of her."

"Really?" Cyril asked, his dark hair falling into his eyes. "Because, I am."

_**Alex and Lynette**_

Alex was sitting at the dining room table, his nose over a book. He needed it for the long ride to the Capitol. Granted, his ride wasn't as long as the District Eleven or District Ten tributes' would be.

"God, do you ever do anything but read?" Lynette demanded from her place across the table. She had been playing with the cutlery for the past thirty minutes. "I couldn't have been paired with a more boring tribute."

Alex pushed his white-blonde hair out of his dark blue eyes, then proceeded to clean off the grimy lenses of his glasses. "_Somebody's_ opinionated." He muttered. He bent his head to continue reading when she started talking again. "Is it true that the majority of people in your district are addicted to Morphling?"

"Not the majority, more than half of the population are against the drug, but almost half do it. It's almost a fifty-fifty split."

"Are you addicted to it?" She asked, her grey eyes sparkling as she tossed her brown hair over her shoulder and began to run her fingers through it.

He grinned, "Nope, caffeine is my Morphling."

She scoffed and muttered about him being boring again. She rose, her dress barely reaching mid-thigh as she bent to pick up a stack of magazines off a chair. "Oh look! There I am!" She said holding up one for display. "Miss January, I was featured in this magazine seven times. That's the most I've ever been in one."

"Nice." Alex commented, not looking up from the pages before him.

After a few more silent moments a shadow covered his pages. He looked up to see Lynette leaning across the table, putting her chest on display. "Even though you're a little short, and you're definitely _not_ my type, why don't we go back to my sleeper car and have some fun, eh bud?"

"Are you kidding me?"

"No, I'm _very_ serious."

"I have a boyfriend." He said, sliding his seat back and away from her. He grabbed his book and was headed for his sleeper car.

"You're _gay_?!"

"Yep." Then, he let the door shut behind him.

_**Coy and Bandit Lee**_

Coy had been sitting alone in the main car for quite sometime. He was bored, and he wasn't going to meet his mentor until he got to the Capitol, actually, none of the tributes were. Sure, the escorts were on the train with them, but for the most part his just stayed in the sleeping car and Bandit Lee's was nowhere to be found.

Coy turned as the door opened, to see who it was. He would talk to just about anybody at this point.

It was Bandit Lee, her long blonde hair reached the small of her back, her t-shirt was just a little baggy. She wore jeans that were faded and looked worn with age, she wore well-worn brown boots on her feet. That wasn't what caught his attention. On her hips was belt, and that belt was held together by a shiny, _huge_ buckle. It had a star in the center and the words, "District Ten All Around Cowgirl".

"Nice belt." He told her.

Her blue eyes widened in surprise. She looked down at the buckle and back up at him. "Oh, thanks. I won it over the summer in the District Ten rodeo."

"So you ride horses?"

"Yeah." She said moving to stand next to him to look out the window. "My brothers and my sister do too. The Peacekeepers took my spurs, I feel naked without them." She scuffed her boot on the floor. "They said they were considered a weapon."

"How many brothers and sisters do you have?"

"I have two older brothers and a younger sister." She said, tucking a strand of her straight blonde hair behind her ear.

"I'm the oldest in my family." He told her. "My brother Clinton is the closest to me in age, then I have twin sisters, and a baby brother named Clay."

She looked at him, smiling. "All of your names start with the letter C?"

"Yes, ma'am." He watched in amusement as her face turn a cute shade of pink, like she was embarrassed. "Was it something I said?"

"Oh, no." She shook her head. "It's just nobody calls me that." She let out a nervous laugh. "I guess it's because I'm around my brothers all day."

He continued to watch her, fascinated by the girl from District Ten.


	16. Chapter 16: Train Rides Part II

_**Jacob and Sawyer**_

Jacob watched in fascination as Sawyer built a helicopter out of the cutlery, complete with a spoon propeller on the top. He had built it in less than three minutes and was sitting back, fiddling with it.

"How do you do that?" Jacob asked the massive guy. Sure, Jacob was tall, about six-foot-one, but he was really thin. He didn't have muscles. He looked like a walking stick, essentially. Not Sawyer. Sawyer was six-five and had the broad shoulders and muscles of a linebacker. He wasn't fat, by any means, but he was big.

Sawyer's green eyes met his brown ones. "I just kind of picked it up on the job."

"Where did you work?"

"The electronics factory in Three." Sawyer replied, looking at the little metal helicopter in his hands. "I had literally climbed the employment ladder. I was sitting Vice CEO until yesterday. I was supposed to inherit the factory when old man Whatts died."

"So you had money?"

"Not always. What about you? You're sportin' some pretty fancy duds yourself." He said, nodding his blonde head to Jacob's sneakers.

"Yeah. My dad was the mayor for District Five. But, I didn't look down on the poor people in my district. We actually adopted one when I was ten. He's been my brother and my best friend ever since. My girlfriend, she's also one of the lower class." Jacob ran a hand through his short, dark hair. He missed Hayley already.

"I never had a girlfriend." Sawyer relied, his attention focused on bending the tines of the forks he'd used back into alignment.

Jacob eyed the good-looking blonde warily. "Why? You can't tell me you didn't have girls all over you in your district. I mean, c'mon! You have money, you're good looking, you're smart!"

Sawyer's mouth tilted up to the side, his green eyes sparkling with amusement. "I had girls all over me." He admitted. "I just never wanted a girlfriend. I didn't want to be tied down. I'd rather just have our fling, and be done with it, you know?"

"So…you used girls?"

"Eh, I wouldn't call it _that_ exactly. I got really serious with a couple of them, almost considered asking them out. I did, actually, a couple of times. But, none of them wanted to date. They just wanted to see each other on occasion." He looked at Jacob's incredulous expression. "It wasn't like that!" He objected, "I never tried to…you know…with a girl who didn't want to! I'm not that kind of a guy."

Jacob eyed the boy across from him. He wasn't sure how he felt about it. Sawyer looked earnest, but who knew? The Hunger Games was a game of deception.

_**Oakleigh and Lindsey**_

The first time Oakleigh ever saw Lindsey, she hated her. She looked stuck-up, perfect, and _mean_. First of all, her size was absolutely irritating. Lindsey was only four-foot-ten, with perfect curves from her small size (she probably only weight ninety-eight pounds!), that she had perfect, thick, straight, red hair, and gorgeous green eyes. Something Oakleigh had always wanted.

"Why do you keep staring at me like that?" Lindsey demanded.

"Sorry, I was just admiring your hair."

"Don't." Lindsey snapped. "It's too long, it's too thick, it's too _red_, and it always gets in the way. When I get to the Capitol I'm going to ask my stylist to chop it all off."

Oakleigh watched in amazement as Lindsey picked up the butter knives and sat back down. She stared at a picture of their escort, Bill Ripley was his name, and threw the knives at it. They pierced the canvas, right in his face every single time.

"Let me guess," Oakleigh said, "In District Two you trained and you throw knives."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Lindsey demanded, her tone was cold and hard.

"It means that you careers have a distinct advantage over the rest of the tributes!" Oakleigh snapped, standing to her feet. "That's why you guys win the games all of the time! How is that fair?"

Lindsey rose, her tiny fists clenching at her sides. "How am I supposed to control what people in my district do? It isn't my fault that your parents are probably dirt-poor and can't afford to train you!"

"You did _not_ just insult my parents!"

"I did!"

The girls were nose to nose, glaring at each other.

Oakleigh was so mad! She was breathing heavily, clenching her fists, gritting her teeth. "I'm going to…I'm going to…"

"Kill me?" Lindsey asked in a somewhat sweet voice. "Go ahead and try. You may be bigger than me, but I am not afraid of you."

_**Ryan and Virginia**_

"So, what did you do in District Twelve?" Virginia asked Ryan while they watched videos of the Reaping. For the most part it was uninteresting, except when the little boy from Nine and the tall, awkwardly built kid from Five were reaped.

"I worked in my dad's bakery most of the time." Ryan said, glancing at her with brown eyes. "You?"

"I worked third shift in the textiles factory."

"Sounds like fun."

"Not even close." She was braiding her brown hair and she looked at him with blue eyes. "What's your last name, again?"

"Mellark."

"Was your dad the victor from a few years ago?"

Ryan nodded. "I could tell by the look on his face when he came to tell me goodbye that he was worried. He says that the only reason he made it out alive was because of Katniss Everdeen." Ryan ran a hand through his brown hair. "I don't think he believes that I'll make it out alive."

"That's too bad. My parents say they do, but I don't think they actually believe themselves."

Ryan looked at the girl from District Eight, she was kind of pretty with long, dark hair, blue eyes, and ivory skin. Her feet were bare and she was in shorts and a tank top. She was pretty, but she wasn't _her_. The girl he loved, Kimberly Hawthorne.

"What is your last name?"

"Hawthorne?" She asked him.

"Really? Are you related to Gale Hawthorne?"

"He's my uncle, I think."

"It's a small world."


	17. Chapter 17: Arriving in the Capitol

**Okay, guys. I haven't had school recently, which is why I'm a writing fool! But, here is the arrival of some of the tributes to the Capitol. The drawing is random, and I'm only doing a few of them because I feel that doing all of them would be tedious and boring for the reader. If you think I should do the other tributes' arrivals review or P.M. it before I have the next chapter up.**

* * *

_**District 4, Coralie Alderly**_

She saw the shadows of the Capitol before she saw the actual Capitol itself. She looked up to see massive skyscrapers, buildings bigger than anything she'd ever seen. She felt her blue-green eyes widen in surprise at the sheer size of the buildings. Her mouth opened to a surprised "O" as the train began to slow.

"Whoa! Is that the Capitol? Cool!" Cyril said in awe at her side. "I've never seen anything so big! Well, I used to go to the train tracks all the time when Thomas and I delivered grain and the train cars are really big!"

She felt the corners of her mouth pull up, just a hair. She didn't get attached to people—especially her rivals, but Cyril was so cute and innocent. The way his dark hair flopped in his eyes reminded her of Cale, or how Cale would have looked when he was little. "I've never seen a train." She said quietly, her voice still monotone.

"They're pretty cool." He assured her.

The stood in silence as they watched the Capitol slowly stop blurring by. She felt something light touch her left arm, down the somewhat jagged scars that were there. She looked down in surprise.

"What happened?" Cyril asked.

Coralie pressed her lips together, unsure if she should answer the young boy. Well, he looked younger than he was. He said he was thirteen, but he looked like he was ten. He was only a year younger than her. And he most certainly was a rival. "It was an accident I had in training." She told him finally.

"I see." He said, looking out the window.

The train was coming to a solid stop now; she could easily make out the strange people in the Capitol.

"They look so _weird_." Cyril said wrinkling his nose. "She has purple hair! Look at her!"

Coralie eyed all of the Capitol citizens, silently vowing to never let her stylist make her look like one of them. They looked absolutely absurd.

She heard Slater suck in a sharp breath from his position in the lounge area of the car as he stared out the window. She watched intently as he clutched his fists together at his sides after lifting up his polarized aviators and rubbing his right eye. She could tell by his stiff body language that he was mad about something. But, the scowl on his face quickly receded as he put on a grin and waved, causing the Capitol citizens to go crazy.

_**District 3, Sawyer Coleman**_

"Have you ever seen the Capitol before?" He asked Jacob. He had a glass of orange juice in one hand and a doughnut in the other. He had mixed feelings about being fed whatever and how much he wanted before going into the Hunger Games. Sure, it was awesome, but it also stretched out one's stomach, so when they got into the games they starved easier.

"No." He said, standing and stretching his twiggy limbs. "Have you?"

"Yeah. I've been here a couple of times for work."

"Really?" Jacob asked joining him at the window.

"Yeah, I had to show some of my inventions to the Gamemakers." Sawyer chuckled at the irony of his situation. He had created things that were to be used in the games. Now, they'd be used in the very games he'd probably be killed in.

"What kind of inventions?"

"Like the mobile, movement-sensing cameras. I created them. Last year they were swarming all over the arena. I made a lot of money off of that deal." Sawyer stuffed his hands in the pockets of his trousers. His mother packed most of his clothes, and the majority of the stuff in his closet was fancy work clothes, and dressy-casual stuff. He felt like a stuff big-wig standing next to Jacob, who was in a cut-off t-shirt and black basketball shorts.

He grinned when he saw Jacob's chocolate-colored eyes bug out at the sight of the Capitol. "Hahn wouldn't believe this!"

"That's your brother, right? The blind one?"

Jacob nodded slowly, his eyes fixated on the massive buildings and the strange people.

In his heart Sawyer missed his little brother, Sebastian was so smart, and quiet. He took life as it came. He was a kid that was growing up way before his time. He also missed Sandra, his little sister who he loved to make giggle and squeal.

"Look at the people!" Jacob exclaimed.

Right. He had a front to present. He had to get sponsors. Sawyer grinned out the window and waved. When the train stopped directly in front of a group of ladies, he winked a green eye at them and smiled, abroad, showing his perfect teeth.

_**District 10, Bandit Lee**_

When she first saw the Capitol she lost her ability to breathe. "Wow, look at it, Coy!" She pressed a delicate hand to the glass. "I've never seen anything like it."

"Neither have I." The tribute admitted.

She didn't reply. She had felt him staring at her periodically throughout the day and it made her uncomfortable. She wasn't used to being watched, she wasn't used to being inside, and she wasn't used to the abundance of food they offered on the train. Finally, she said, "District Ten is all mountains, and valleys, and grass fields."

"In Eleven we have orchards and fields full of crops. Houses are usually acres apart."

She looked at him, blinking her blue eyes in surprise. "Same here." She chortled for a moment. "When you called me ma'am, you reminded me of my brother for a moment. He always calls my mom "ma'am" and my dad "sir"."

Coy smiled lightly at her. "You know, just before I was reaped, a guy I work with told me I was one of the most respectable kids he knew. 'Cause I always call women "ma'am" and men "sir". I think it's a coincidence."

"Well, we have had kind of similar upbringings, from the sound of things." She had listen on the long train ride about how Coy had worked in the orchards since he was eight, picking fruit, climbing trees, and working until it got dark. How he had worked side-by-side with his dad, who had taught him the basics, and how his mom stayed home to keep the children out of trouble.

"How long have you been riding horses?" He asked her.

"Since I could walk."

"That's a long time."

"Yep."

Her eyes widened when she saw all of the strange people from the Capitol. They look so…so unnatural. Not to mention, uncomfortable in their super high-heels, tight dresses, and stuffy suites. They looked weird with crazy hair styles and colors, they had makeup and tattooing on their faces, some of them had their skin dyed.

"Dear god." She whispered, desperately wanting to be back home in District Ten.


	18. Chapter 18

**Okay guys, just a quick warning, this is where they meet the stylists, it vaguely mentions nudity, but it isn't detailed.**

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_**District 7, Oakleigh Gilbert**_

She felt so…_exposed_. Currently, Oakleigh was standing in a white bathrobe waiting for her stylist to enter the room. She had never let anybody see her naked body before, _hell_, she didn't even like to see herself naked. Against her complaints the stylist's helpers stripped her down, washed her hair, smoothed out her skin, and made her look beautiful.

She sat with her legs cross on a white bench, anxiously twiddling her fingers on her thigh. Waiting was probably the hardest part. She could take the criticism about her weight, but it was the waiting, trying to figure out what reaction her stylist would have that was going to be the death of her.

She smiled to herself; her mother had never really seen her children dolled up for anything. But now, she was going to see Oakleigh in ridiculous costumes and a gorgeous dress for the interviews. Maybe the stylist could make her so pretty that the boy she had a crush on—the same one she had asked to the school dance the previous year, the same boy who told her yes, then told her no because he was "kind of talking to another girl, and they might date"—feel sorry that he ever rejected her.

"You know, most of the tributes I've had don't usually smile." The voice said from the corner of the room.

Jumping, Oakleigh twisted to see who was speaking, and immediately lost her breath. He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen in her entire life.

He didn't have any alterations, as far as she could tell, but he was just naturally beautiful. He had very dark—almost black—hair that fell swooped across his forehead. He was unshaven, so he had stubble, which normally she wouldn't find attractive, but the look worked on him. He was dressed comfortably, but stylishly at the same time. In loafers, khaki pants, a button down shirt, a dark brown suede jacket, and a matching bowler cap on top. But, that wasn't his most interesting features.

His eyes. They were beautiful—hypnotic even. At first they looked blue, but as he came closer they looked green with some gray mixed in. By the time he was in front of her she realized that they were a combination of the three, mixed and blended together so perfectly, that with the assistance of his dark hair, they stared right through her.

"It was just—" She felt her face flame up as he stared at her. "I was thinking about my district. Are you me stylist?"

He dropped his bag and crouched so he was looking up at her. "My name's Ian Salvatore. Yes, I'm your stylist." He rose from a crouch and motioned for her to follow him. "Come with me?"

She nodded, dazedly and rose, feeling even more awkward in her robe than before.

"Step up here." He motioned for her to step up on a lighted platform, only about six inches high. He was incredibly nice, which just attributed to her fondness of him. "Would you like to…?" He gestured taking off a robe, a dark brow raised quizzically over those entrapping eyes.

She squeaked. "Take it off?"

He gave a kind half-smile. "Of course, how else am I supposed to get a good look at you? I don't have x-ray vision, you know."

"I—I—"

"I get it, you're nervous and insecure. Trust me, Oakleigh; you aren't going to be the worst person I've seen naked, despite what you may think. I worked in the hospital while going to fashion school on the side."

She blinked her golden-brown eyes, baffled that he knew her name. But, then she realized he probably watched the Reaping and got a file on her. "Well, I suppose…" She cast her eyes down and then let the white robe drop to the floor.

Feeling his eyes go over every single nook and cranny, every detail, every _single_ flaw made her feel violated, ashamed, nervous…_exposed_.

"You know, it's hard to decide what to do with a tribute when she's looking at her feet."

It took all of her inner strength to lift her chin up and look at him. She offered a weak smile.

"It isn't that bad. I actually have a body—curves to work with." He told her, meeting her gaze. "It gets boring having a stick to drape in cloth. You can put your robe back on." He winked at her and she swore to god her heart stopped.

_**District 2, Lindsey Ardford**_

Lindsey opened a jade eye in annoyance. "While you're ripping on my hair feel free to cut it off." She fixed the man combing something that was going to make her hair soft with a ferocious glare.

He opened his purple eyes wide in surprise and said, "Absolutely _not_. It's going to be your trademark throughout the games!"

Lindsey gritted her teeth and shut her eyes once more. The man disgusted her; he had periwinkle skin, perfectly styled mauve hair, and synthetic purple eyes.

"Rouge?" He asked a girl with boy-short red hair. "Please bring me a tray so I can set this comb down."

Lindsey could tell him easily where he could put that comb; it would need to be surgically removed once it got there though. Instead, she said, "How is my _hair_ going to be a 'trademark' in the games?"

"It's beautiful, long, thick, and well taken care of. It's what people will remember you by."

Lindsey sat up and pulled her red hair over her shoulder. "You know what I'd rather be known for? For being able to kill _anybody_ without batting an eye. And, just in case you're wondering, the odds are quite in my favor."

The man's light purple skin turned and paler. "Where is Trish?" He muttered to Rouge. Then, it was followed by something that sounded a lot like "get me the hell out of here".

Lindsey had to refrain from smirking.

"Will you put your robe on?" He asked her.

Lindsey crossed her arms across her bare chest and crossed her legs and definitely stuck her chin out. "Why? Does it make you feel uncomfortable? It's funny," She rose and put her arms down by her side. "You'd think that because _I'm_ the one naked in front of total strangers I would be uncomfortable. But, it makes you squirm." She moved closer to him and stood on her tiptoes to hiss in his ear. "I enjoy watching people squirm."

"Dear god, I have a midget." A girl with pin-straight brown hair and cat eyes said eyeing Lindsey up. "Why the hell do I get the ones with issues, it was the boy with the boil last year, the pregnant chick the year before. Can I ever catch a break?" She asked nobody in particular.

"Excuse me?"

The stylist that could have been a model put a hand on her narrow hips and narrowed her yellow feline eyes at her. "Listen sweetheart, I'm not afraid of your empty threats."

"They aren't empty. I'm not afraid to choke you out."

To enrage Lindsey further the stylist _laughed_. In a dark voice she said, "Listen, you so much as look at me the wrong way and I'll have the Peacekeepers in here faster that your little brain can think. As far as I'm concerned it's an empty threat."

Lindsey gritted her teeth, seething silently.

_**District 11, Coy Farley**_

"Judging by the grime under these nails you're from District Ten." An older lady with graying hair said as she scraped the crud and other grime from under Coy's short nails, which he frequently chewed on.

"Eleven, ma'am." He said. He had been thoroughly scrubbed down, waxed, and polished. It was weird at first to have somebody scrubbing him down, but he decided to just enjoy it, because he knew it was never going to happen again.

"I've never seen hair that color." She said nodding her head to his strawberry-blonde hair. "Do you dye it?"

"Do what?"

The old woman laughed, it was raspy, like she was a chain-smoker—a habit his mother had quit when she got pregnant with the twins. "I take it that's a no. Do your siblings have the same color?"

"My sisters—Clarissa and Caty—do. My other brothers, Clay and Clinton, have brown hair."

The image of Clinton's face was quickly accompanied by a wave of sadness. Sure, when he and his brother would fight it practically was the Battle of Panem all over again, but soon after they would laugh about it and be best friends afterwards. These stupid games took that away from him. Nobody was going to be there to get Clinton in trouble when he and Rachel got too serious, nobody was going to pick on Clay, and entertain the twins.

"Cheer up, kid." A man in his mid-forties with sandy blonde curls in a blue business suit said, walking up to meet him. "I'm your stylist, Timothy."

Coy shook his hand, eyeing the obviously flamboyant man. "Coy Farley, sir."

"You look like somebody peed in your Wheaties."

Coy just stared at Timothy with somber green eyes.

"Listen, as far as I'm concerned, you have just as much of a chance in them games as any of the other tributes."

"Thank you, sir."


	19. Chapter 19: The Chariot Rides

_**The Chariot Rides, Announcer's POV. **_

He sat there tapping his manicured fingers on his desk, which overlooked the stadium where the Tributes would be riding their chariots through in less than five minutes. "How long until we are live?" He asked his makeup artist dully as she toyed with his back hair.

"Three minutes sir."

"I don't get why we do this." Cynthia said on his right hand side. "It's the same thing every year. We all think it's funny watching the rats from the districts come out here in ludicrous costumes."

Marcus rubbed his temples. "It gives the Capitol a new style for the year, depending on which tribute wins. Not to mention, it will help give the tributes sponsors."

"It's so boring!"

"Cynthia, sweetheart." The manager ordered. He was a young energetic guy who had been in charge of the narrators for the parade for two years. "All of this talk is okay _for now_. But, when those cameras start rolling we need you to be the adorable air-head the Capitol craves. Got it?"

She rolled her eyes at him but nodded.

"That's my girl. Okay, we are live in five, four, three, two…" He pointed at Marcus, a grin on his face.

Marcus smiled so wide his cheeks hurt. "Good evening ladies and gentlemen, welcome to this year's tribute parade! This year the Gamemakers have thrown a twist into the games, each child in the districts had to take a test. All of them were scored in different categories, the highest of those scores are here this year, and they're going to give you the best Hunger Games of your lives!"

"That's right, Marcus." Cynthia said sweetly as she grinned in front of the camera. "One of the things I _love_ about the parade is all of the intricately designed costumes that the tributes get to wear. The stylists work very hard to get these district-themed costumes ready. Oh look! Here come Lynette Winters from District One! You know, Marcus, I like the bling thing she has going on right now. She's very…shiny."

"Indeed she is, Cynthia."

The District One tribute was standing tall and proud in her chariot, flashing her perfect smile for all of the Capitol to see. She was bejeweled from head to toe in different stones that gleamed in the light.

"It says here that Lynette scored the highest in hand-to-hand combat, which is combat without weapons." Cynthia said.

"That should be interesting." Marcus said with a chuckle.

"Yes, and in District One she was a model."

"District Two's tribute, or shall I say _tributes_ are Slater O'Brien and Lindsey Ardford." Marcus said, as he watched the two tributes enter in their chariot.

"They are dressed like rock giants, almost as if to tell the other tributes that they are strong and not easily broken." Cynthia said. "Although, Lindsey is far from giant."

Marcus let out a fake laugh. "The pair of them not only shared a score in weaponry, but they also share a relative. The two of them are cousins. How interesting!" God, he hated his job.

The pair of tributes stood stoically, neither of them moving. Slater made Lindsey look like a dwarf in comparison to his broad shoulders.

"Our next tribute entering in their chariot is Sawyer Coleman from District Three."

"Yes," Cynthia said synthetically, "He is dressed like a motherboard, which most electronics have."

Around his fake smile he said seriously and quite rudely, "All electronics _do_ have motherboards, Cynthia." He chuckled darkly. "Sawyer scored the highest in the strength and building category, he was _Vice CEO_ at Gigha Whatts' Factory for Electronics."

"Wow, look at that accomplished man charming all of us here in the Capitol. He's winking and waving and being very flirtatious." Cynthia genuinely sounded like she was swooning, causing Marcus to give her a stern look.

"Our next tribute," Cynthia said ignoring his look, "Is Coralie Alderly from District Four. She looks so fierce and beautiful dressed like a sea goddess!"

Coralie was standing stoically, her face showing no emotion as her blonde hair whipped behind her in the chariot.

"I do believe that is genuine seaweed her tunic is made out of!" Marcus exclaimed. "She scored highest in weaponry, like the tributes from District Two. Ah, here comes Mr. Jacob Brahmani from District Five, he's positively _glowing_!"

"I see your joke, Marcus." Cynthia chuckled pleasantly. "Because District Five is the district that supplies power they've made him glow like a light."

"Jacob volunteered for his brother, Hahn, who is blind."

"How sweet."

"From District Six is Alexander Flynn. He's dressed like a train engineer. Alex scored the highest in District Six for his smarts. His score surpassed all of the others by hundreds of points! He's a smart guy!"

"From District Seven we have Oakleigh Gilbert; she's dressed as a tree. Her skills from her district include: Being accurate at throwing axes and being able to distinguish the types of plants and animals in the woods."

Marcus's face was starting to hurt. "From District Eight is Virginia Hawthorne, she is wrapped from the chest to her knees in different colors of yarn! How creative, that's a costume we haven't seen before."

"I do believe she is related to Katniss Everdeen's cousin, Gale Hawthorne." Cynthia said, referring to the well-know previous victor. "Virginia was best at using common objects as weapons."

This was getting old now. Marcus's patience was dwindling. "From District Nine is Cyril Schist!"

"Cyril _what_?" Cynthia asked, her face screwed up in genuine confusion.

"Schi_st_, it is a common grain grown on District Nine."

Cynthia let out a giggle, "Oh I thought you said—"

"That's funny, Cynthia!" He said cutting her off quickly. Dumb bitch. "Cyril is dressed like a stalk of wheat, complete with the tassels on top of his head and everything. He scored the best in running distance and speed."

"District Ten's tribute is Bandit Lee Highland." Cynthia said. "She is dressed in a cowhide dress, with horns on her head. She's portraying a steer, I'll assume."

"I bet you guessed right! Bandit scored the highest in hand-eye coordination and first aid. From District Eleven is Coy Farley!"

"Because agriculture is what District Eleven does best, Coy is dressed as a stalk of corn. He certainly is thin enough for it!" Cynthia added. "Coy scored the highest in climbing and being able to identify different kinds of fruits and nuts."

"Last but not least," Marcus had to be careful to keep the relief out of his voice. "Is Ryan Mellark from District Twelve, he's dressed as a coal miner."

"Ryan's father is Peeta Mellark, is it not?"

"It is indeed. It will be interesting to see how well he follows in his father's footsteps. Ryan scored the highest in weight lifting and camouflage, like his father. With Capitol New Today, I'm Marcus Eckerman."

"And I'm Cynthia Wilde, good night and may the odds be ever in your favor."

"And cut!" The director said, causing Marcus to sigh in relief. He hated the tribute parade.

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**Okay, I'm going to be perfectly honest. I HATED this chapter with the passion of a thousand burning suns. I don't know why, I just did. I think because it HAS to be done to have a complete story and it can't be personalized POVs. I apologise right now for any errors, or dislikes with this chapter. My heart wasn't in it. But, the next ones will be better because it's training and it can be individual POV's.**


	20. Chapter 20: Training, Day One

**Okay, I seriously had the best typo ever in the last chapter, and I thought it was so funny I didn't even go back to change it. It was meant to say "Marcus's _black_ hair" but it came out "Marcus's _BACK_ hair". I laughed hysterically for about ten minutes straight and figured, what the hey! It's for a good laugh. So, if anybody pictured Marcus bare-chested and bearing slight resembelance to a gorilla, I apologize, but hope you had as much of a laugh out of the typo as I did!**

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_**D****istrict**** 5, Jacob Brahmani**_

"Jeez, this place has everything. Doesn't it?" Jacob asked nobody in particular as his brown eyes scanned over the training facility. They had an archery range in one corner, an obstacle course in the other, survival skills in another, and weapons orientation in the last one.

"Just about." One of the mentors said smiling. She was in her mid-thirties with dark skin and kind brown eyes. "Now, where would you like to start?"

He frowned, because really he had no idea. "Weapons orientation?" He offered. "I don't really know much about them, I was a volunteer—for my brother." He said quickly.

She smiled pleasantly at him, "Sure, why don't you follow me?" She led him to the corner where weapons were placed of various racks with their names on them. "You should know that in the games you aren't guaranteed to get some of these weapons, so it's best to familiarize yourself with a variety of them."

He nodded, his eyes skimming over the deadly blades, sharp points, and shiny metal.

"What is also important is selecting a weapon that fits you best; it's good to make sure it isn't too big or too heavy." She reached out and picked up a double-bladed axe. "This would be a good weapon for throwing farther distances because of its weight, or hitting the tribute if they are close to you. It wouldn't be a good medium-short distance weapon because it would be nearly as accurate." She held it out to him.

Jacob took the axe, startled by its somewhat heavy weight. "People actually _use_ these?"

"Mostly tributes from Districts Eight or Two." She nodded her dark head to the one corner of the building, where Oakleigh Gilbert, from District Eight could be seen easily throwing an axe that was similar to the very one in his hands into the wooden dummy.

She took the axe and placed it back on the rack and picked up a knife. It wasn't short, like the throwing knives, but it wasn't as long as a broadsword. "This is a dagger; it's used for close-range battle only."

He took the dagger, running his thumb over the deadly-sharp blade, and then placed it back on the shelf. His eyes drifted to a long, thin, aluminum pole with a sharp point on the end. "What is that?"

"This is a spear." She pulled it off the rack and held it out to him. "It is very light despite its appearance."

Jacob held the spear in his hand, she was right. He expected it to be heavy, but it was fairly light in his hand. "I like it. Why is it so light?"

"It's light because the shaft is made out of hollow aluminum and carbon, but the tip is titanium. You like it?"

He nodded.

"Well, let's go to the throwing range and get you started, you can always come back and try different weapons that suit your liking."

"Thanks."

_**District 10, Bandit Lee Highland**_

Bandit Lee was bandaging a dummy's "broken leg" when a shadow loomed over her. She looked up to see the tall, guy from District Three grinning down at her. "Can you do me next? Just looking at you has given me a broken heart."

She rose to her feet, "You can't be serious." She fixed him with her dark blue eyes; he was at least an entire foot taller than her!

"I'm as serious as a heart attack." His green eyes held a mischievous twinkle.

She ignored him following her like a lost puppy and headed for the target range after she plucked a bow and quiver full of arrows off a rack. "Is there someplace you should be?" She asked as she drew back her bow and pressed her button nose to the string. She released the arrow; it was just a few inches shy from the dummy's chest.

He looked taken aback. "What?"

"You can't tell me there isn't something you could be doing besides hitting on girls. I don't see how that's going to save you in the games."

He looked like she had just slapped him. "What's your name?" He asked her finally. "I'm Sawyer Coleman, from District Three."

"Bandit Lee, from District Ten." She said, allowing a small bit of irritation creep into her voice. She tucked her straight blonde hair behind her ears as she moved to retrieve her arrows. He followed her. "I was the vice CEO of my company." He told her. "Did you have a job?"

She instantly thought of Casanova, and her heart ached. She had been on the back of a horse almost every single day of her life. This was an uncomfortable—not to mention unwelcomed—change. "I worked on my family's ranch." She told him. "I really miss it." She said, almost to herself. She realized the words had escaped her lips and she clamped her mouth shut, looking up at him, embarrassed.

For a moment he was serious, and he looked like he was actually going to say something intelligent before he said, "If you ever need a shoulder to cry on, I've got one right here, baby." He winked and patted his broad shoulder. "And other body parts if you wanna cry on them too."

Bandit Lee set her jaw, glaring up at him with her sapphire eyes, which were blazing in fury. Before she could even register what she'd done she heard the sharp crack resounding as her palm hit his cheek. "I've played with a fifteen-hundred animals a hell of a lot more intimidating you. And, honestly, I'd rather spend my day with a bitchy mare in heat than with you!" She spat before turning on her heel and storming away from him, leaving him caressing his red cheek, staring at her curiously.

_**District 3, Sawyer Coleman**_

He stared after the young blonde from District Ten in fascination—and hurt, because she knew how to land a solid slap—but mostly with awe. That wasn't how things were supposed to work. When he flirted shamelessly with any girl (and possibly some guys for a laugh) they were supposed to swoon and fall into his arms.

Bandit Lee was the exact opposite. She didn't care that he was flirting with her or turning on his charm. If anything it made her mad, he'd never seen _that_ reaction before. It was alien to him, but it made him want to get closer to her even more. Just two minutes ago he was just trying to get to an ally-with-benefits status, but after her little five-fingered-face-slap he wanted to know why she was different.

He ran a hand through his sandy hair, his green eyes scanning the surrounding floor. Maybe he was loosing his touch. He spied the girl from One, but it wouldn't take much to charm her, he had heard the tribute from Five—Alex he was pretty sure was the name of the tribute—had said she had tried to pull some shenanigans with him on the train.

He shook his head and moved to the next girl tribute. The blonde from District Four, who had her blonde hair pulled back as she focused on learning how to light a fire. She was really young, twelve, or something like that.

Sawyer's gaze slid to Oakleigh Gilbert from District Seven. He considered flirting with her just to see if it would work, but if it got any father than shameless flirting, and his unbearable charms, he definitely did _not_ want to make it with her. She was too…chubby.

He cringed and shook his head, and found the brown haired tribute from District Eight—Virginia Hawthorne— talking with the boy from District Two, Slater. Perfect.

Grinning like the Cheshire Cat, he strode toward her, feeling confident. He put a large hand on Slater's shoulder, who was closer to his size than any of the other tributes as far as broadness and height. "Mind if I cut in, Slick?"

Slater shot him a crooked grin, a red brow raised as he looked from Sawyer to Virginia and back again. "Anytime, _Amigo_." Then, the red-head slipped away still grinning under his polarized aviators.

Sawyer put his arm around Virginia's shoulders and pretended to let his knees give out momentarily before rising to his feet again. "Whoa, sorry! You must be a broom, because for a moment there you had me swept off my feet."

He felt successful as he watched her grin and let out a laugh.

Her blue eyes looked him up and down. "Not a broom, but very impressed. Does that move work on every girl you talk to?"

"Not all of them," he replied. He was staring at Bandit Lee as she was talking to Coy and laughing while waiting for her turn on the obstacle course.


	21. Chapter 21: Training, Day Two

_**District 8, Virginia Hawthorne**_

When Virginia had been reaped she thought her best weapon was going to be throwing knives…boy, was she wrong. It was _a lot_ harder than it looked. Lindsey Ardford and Coralie Alderly made it look effortless, and between the two of them, they were both spot on.

Coralie didn't say much, but Virginia had noted that blonde had been very dedicated to her training over the past few days. She would start out the day throwing knives, then migrate to another station, and then another, and so on, until she ended the day back at the throwing targets.

Virginia had almost considered talking to her, but she didn't seem very social. Then, she had considered talking to Lindsey, but when she saw the tiny red-head maliciously chew into Slater she decided she wouldn't make a very good ally.

Currently, Virginia was working on getting familiar with various weapons; she hadn't picked the one she wanted yet. She was twirling a thick knife of some sort in her hand when she heard yelling.

"Slater, I will rip your nuts off and staple them to your forehead!" Lindsey was yelling, she was standing toe-to-toe with him, on her tiptoes. She had him by the shirt collar and was touching noses with him.

Virginia rolled her eyes and went back to getting used to the machete once more.

"You're gripping it too tight." Slater's voice said in her ear.

She jumped, turning to face him. "You scared me!"

He grinned at her under his messy red hair, she thought he looked cute. The "I just rolled out of bed" look worked for him. "Hold it like this." He said, taking it out of her hand, demonstrating how to hold it.

She copied his grip. "So, what do you use this for? I know it's to chop peoples' heads off, but can you throw it?"

"It's mostly used for cutting through thick objects." He said, taking it from her once more. "If you needed to clear a path through the arena that's what I'd use it for. And close combat. As for throwing it—" He turned and hurled the blade down range, where it stuck in the middle of the dummy's chest with a deep _thunk_. He turned back to her, a grin on his face, "You could, but I don't recommend it."

She laughed. "How did you do that?"

He shrugged playfully, "I've been training for a while. I don't recommend throwing random weapons. You could look like _her_." He gestured over to Coralie Alderly, who heard him say her name and glared at him.

Virginia didn't understand what Slater meant until Coralie turned her body, revealing four pink scars running down her left arm from her bicep to a little past her elbow. "Oh!" Virginia gasped, her eyes going wide. "What happened?"  
"I'm guessing she got a little crazy with throwing knives."

"Wow. You Careers really take your training seriously. I never trained in my district, I just worked all of the time."

Slater opened his mouth to say something, but a Peacekeeper came up and got in his face. "O'Brien, you have had several warnings now. Give me those." He said before plucking the sunglasses off Slater's freckled face.

Slater turned his head and covered his right eye, and looked up, fury on his features as the Peacekeeper stomped away with them.

"Are you okay?" Virginia demanded. They way he recoiled and covered his eye so quickly led her to believe that he had been poked in the eye when the glasses were ripped off his face. "Did you get poked in the eye? Just let me look—"

"I'm fine." Slater said darkly before turning and walking away from her quickly.

_**District 12, Ryan Mellark**_

"I guess my dad was really good at this stuff." Ryan said, his head bent over Alex Flynn's arm with a paintbrush. He was trying to make it look like his arm was a part of a rock covered in moss. "I don't know how I didn't inherit would have been nice to inherit that." _Instead of the inability to talk to the girl I'm in love with_, he thought bitterly.

Alex was watching Ryan's hand with fascination. "It doesn't look like you're doing that terrible from here."

"Thanks, I guess." He nodded to the book sitting on the table next to Alex. "What's the next one?"

Alex managed to hold the book open with one, small hand. "Can you tell the difference between the two berries?"

Ryan dabbed into the dark brown paint, then his brown eyes flicked to the page. He paused for a minute, then shook his head. "Nope."

"The one on your left is a Huckleberry," Alex said, his silver-framed glasses sliding down his nose. "The one on your right is Nightlock—"

"That stuff's poisonous, isn't it?"

"Very. Look a little closer."

Ryan paused in his painting to lean toward the color photo. "The Elderberry has a red star where the stem connects to it."

Alex nodded, causing the glasses to slide even farther down his nose. He blushed. "Uh, do you mind? Both my hands are a little occupied."

"Oh, sure." Ryan said, pushing Alex's glasses back up his nose.

"If the berry has a star on it it's safe to eat. But _only_ if it's that color. Lord knows what a red one with a star would be."

"It could turn me into a frog or something." Ryan said chuckling. He saw Alex incredulous look and quickly added, "A dead frog, of course."

"Who knows, with the Gamemakers?" Alex asked, flipping through the book. He held up a picture of a fish. "Do you know what this is?"

Ryan glanced up briefly. "Rainbow trout?"

"Yeah. What about this one?"

It was a fish with a long, thick body, sharp angular head, and its jaws gaping open wide, revealing needle-like teeth.

He couldn't keep his face morphing into a mask of disgust as he stared in horror at the picture. "Too damn big, with too man teeth?" He offered.

"It's called a Muskie."

"Gross." Ryan said putting the finishing touches on Alex's arm. "I'm finished. Do you wanna go hold your arm up to that rock? It might not be the best, but I haven't had much practice."

Alex's arm blended almost perfectly with the rock, to the untrained eye they may have not been able to see the difference, but Ryan could see where he didn't get the shading quite right. "Good thing I have some time to practice."

_**District 2, Slater O'Brien**_

"Lindsey, what am I supposed to do?" He snapped, and then looked around to make sure none of the other tributes had seen or heard his outburst. He was trying to keep his voice quiet for a reason.

She placed her hands on her perfect hips and raised a red brow. "Take your hand off of your face, for starters."

"You know I can't do that. None of the other tributes know yet."

Her jade eyes showed no sympathy, not that he had expected it from her. She was probably the most heartless person on the planet. "I don't think any of them care. It won't matter in a few weeks, anyway."

That was easy for her to say, she didn't have to deal with the stares that always made him feel self-conscious and insecure. He hated it when people acted weird around him because of his Heterochromia. It was like they didn't know where to look, because his eyes freaked them out. "I can't!" I said in frustration.

"Sure you can!" Lindsey said, smiling up at him sweetly.

He knew whatever she was going to do wasn't going to be good. "Lindsey, no! Whatever you're going to do just don't! Seriously, this isn't—_oof_!"

He doubled over, clutching his gut with both hands. "You just head-butted me in the stomach!" He groaned. He managed to stagger to his feet and straighten up, but he knew that if he tried to cover his eye again she'd do it again. "God Smalls, I'm gonna puke!"

"Don't call me that!" She shouted, jabbing out at his stomach again, but he managed to sidestep it. She brushed passed him and headed for the obstacle course.

He rolled his eyes, feeling naked without his sunglasses. He moved to the weapons wrack and pulled out a sword, then moved to a sparring target. Slater cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders before attacking it ruthlessly. He worked on offensive strikes and then switched to defensive blocks. About halfway through he heard a voice. "Slater!"

He froze and dropped his arms to the side.

Virginia was at his elbow now. "Are you okay? You didn't get poked in the eye, did you?"

He turned to face her, grinned and shook his head. "Nah, I'm fine."

"That's good, because..." She trailed off when she made eye contact with him. Her mouth forming a shape of surprise.

Slater could feel his grin melting away, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. He knew exactly what Virginia was seeing, he had stared at his own reflection in the mirror for weeks before he had actually believed that it was himself he was seeing.

His left eye was blue—a light blue—that made him look friendly and mischievous, like somebody you would want to hang out with. His brown eye—the right one—was a dark, muddy brown. It made him seem sad, maybe even a little angry.

Slater hated it.

"I wish I had my sunglasses back." He said, rubbing the back of his neck insecurely.

"I—I'm sorry!" She said quickly. Her face was blushing and her blue eyes looked to the floor. "I didn't mean to stare. They're just so—so…"

"Different?"

"I was going to say unique." She met his gaze once more, her eyes wide with fascination. "Were you born like that?"

So many bad memories flooded through Slater's brain. He swallowed, then shook his head. "No. I wasn't."


	22. Chapter 22: Training, Day Three

_**District**** 4, Coralie Alderly**_

Coralie had developed a routine, every day at training she would start out throwing knives. She was aware that Lindsey from District Two also was a knife thrower. It didn't bother her in the least. She couldn't tell who was better, they would find out in the end.

Coralie ran her thumb over the blade, pressing hard, but not hard enough to draw blood. She could imagine plunging the knife into Slater O'Brien's chest, hearing him scream out in pain as blood poured out of his body, hot and red.

She smiled to herself and set the knife on the shelf. She should probably learn some other skill, aside from throwing knives. She moved to the station next to the obstacle course, where tributes could learn how to climb trees, scale walls, and go through the obstacle course.

"Do you want to climb?" One of the mentors asked her.

Her blue-green eyes met his and she nodded. She had climbed Keppel's Cape enough times, but she'd never climbed trees before. The trees in District Four didn't have limbs to make them easier to climb. They were palm trees, which had mostly smooth bark and a few ridges, making them hard to climb.

She remembered Cale had attempted to climb a palm tree once. The end result was a broken leg and a concussion.

Once she had a safety harness on she took to climbing the tree. She found it was fairly easy, but the farther up she got, the harder it was to find a stable limb, and she soon found that she had no place to go.

It was different, being up higher than the rest of the tributes. She could see each and every single one of them and none of them even knew—or cared—that she was above them at all.

Coralie sat on a fairly trustworthy limb and let her legs dangle. She could see Lynette Winters from District One practicing her hand-to-hand combat with a mentor, Coy Farley practicing how to throw a spear, Sawyer Coleman was staring at Bandit Lee across the floor, Virginia Hawthorne was practicing her sword technique with Jacob Brahmani, and Virginia Hawthorn was working in the plant identification booth.

She wondered what Cale was doing while she was up in the tree, watching everybody else. Was he in training? Was he fixing things with Claire? Did he miss her?

She shook her head, her blonde hair brushing her bare arms. _I can't think about him. He's a distraction. I need to focus on my training,_ she thought as she climbed her way down. _Sure, he's my best friend…my only friend, but I can't let that ruin me. _

_**District 9, Cyril Schist**_

"Are you ready?" The mentor asked him. He looked to be about the same age as Thomas, well, Cyril thought so, anyway.

Cyril nodded, his legs bent to get ready for a speedy takeoff. He was going to run the obstacle course, or The Gauntlet, as the mentors called it.

"_Go_!"

Cyril took off as fast as he could, across the sandy floor. He hated sand; it made it really hard to run. He came out of the sand pit and wrapped his thin arms and legs around the slim, silver pole, and shimmied up the top.

His dark head ducked and bobbed, swerving around the heavy punching bags. One came from the right and smashed into him, pinning him against the chain-link fence. "Ugh!" He cried, as he crashed to the rubber floor.

Cyril made sure to keep his head down as he clutched his ribs. It hurt really, really, bad; but, he had to keep going. It was timed.

He lifted his head, his brown eyes looking for an escape route. Then, he realized that he was small enough to be able to wiggle under the bags instead of dodging them! He army-crawled forward, making sure to keep his head low, until got to the end of the punching bags.

He grabbed the rope at the end of the platform, and swung to the next one, where he had to climb down a series of nets without getting his foot stuck. Cyril thought that was the easiest part. Then, he ran across a shaky bridge, crawled through a series of tunnels, and climbed the rope at the end to ring the bell.

"You did great!" Coy told him, ruffling his hair the same way Thomas did. "I bet you will have the fastest time today."

Cyril smiled up at the tribute from District Eleven. "Really?" He asked, unable help the excitement in his voice. "You think I'll be the fastest time?"

"Oh yeah, for sure. You're really fast, that's why you were picked for the games." His green eyes were kind as he gazed down at Cyril.

"Do you wanna go with me so we can learn how to fight with swords and stuff?"

"Sure."

_**District 6, Alexander Flynn**_

Alex was testing how much he had learned in a timed test that through up the picture of an animal, plant, or question up on the board and he'd have to select the right answer. Right now, he was doing great. He had a photographic memory, which meant that whatever he was seeing was directly out of the book he'd read, which was in his mind.

His fingers flew over the control pad to their own accord, his blue eyes fixed on the screen above him. He had to admit, he enjoyed the feeling of being tested like this. In District Six there wasn't anything like it. Things weren't challenging enough.

Alex had been in his senior class before he was reaped…two years farther ahead than anybody else his age. Still, he was passing his senior year with flying colors. That's where he had met Jack.

The computer system let out a beep, signaling the end of the quiz. His score popped up.

Alex smiled to himself as the screen told him he had only missed two questions out of the 160 given. He shook his blonde bangs out of his eyes, then turned to move to a different station, but accidentally bumped into the tribute from District Seven. "Sorry." He muttered, his face turning scarlet.

She looked down at him with golden-brown eyes. "You only missed two?"

He was feeling a little uncomfortable. "Yeah, I studied a few days ago with Ryan Mellark from District Twelve."

"And you only missed two! That's incredible!"

He took her in from her curly brown hair, to her new sneakers, which had been issued to each tribute before they started training. "Thanks."

"Are you a genius?"

"Yeah." He didn't see the point in lying. Alex knew that when he said he was a genius people thought he was being boastful, but he didn't see the point in trying to dumb himself down. It was easier just to be upfront about it.

"That's cool." She said smiling at him. "Do you mind if I give this thing a try? I haven't studied, but I'm hoping that it will tell me where my weaknesses are."

"Sure." He said, moving aside.

"My name is Oakleigh Gilbert." She said as she re-booted the system.

"Alex Flynn." He watched her take the quiz for a few moments, and then turned to find something else to do.

"Alex!" Ryan called from where he was standing.

Alex moved toward him. He and the tribute from District Twelve had started to form a close bond. Alex like him a lot, he didn't judge him on his sexual orientation, or his size. He was friendly, and seemed like he genuinely wanted to get to know Alex.

"Did Lynette try to make a move on you in the train?" He asked, his brown eyes full of disbelief and hilarity.

"Yeah." He frowned and pushed his pale hair out of his face. "Why?"

"She's bitching up a storm over there, telling everybody that you're…you know?"

Alex shrugged, even though it bothered him a little bit he wasn't going to let her have the satisfaction of knowing it. People like Lynette wanted nothing more than to cause drama and get people's emotions out of control. They loved seeing a reaction from others. "Let her talk. I don't care. It isn't a big deal to me."

"How did you know that you were gay?"

"To be perfectly honest, I didn't. And, even though I am doesn't mean I'm an overly flamboyant man, who wants to be a girl." He stuffed his hands in his pockets and met Ryan's gaze. "I'm just a guy who happens to be in love with another guy."


	23. Chapter 23: Training Day Four

_**District 2, Lindsey Ardford**_

"What happened to your District Eight friend?" Lindsey asked Slater. She couldn't help but be annoyed at him after he had just about "accidentally" chopped her head off. "You're in the way…like usual."

His expression showed her that he didn't care. "I don't want her to think I'm annoying." Slater must have seen her dubious look, because he continued to say, "You already know I'm annoying. She doesn't."

She rolled her green eyes and picked up her knife again. "If I get a set of these in the arena I'm going to be unstoppable." She threw it and watched as it stuck into the dummy up to the hilt. "While you're here, hovering like a bad omen, look what I've been practicing."

She took four knives, two in each hand and through them simultaneously at her target. Each of them hit the target; her aim was far from perfect. Two of them were imbedded in a shoulder, the other in a lung, and the third in the lower abdomen. "Damn." She hissed through her teeth.

Slater's hetero eyes were wide, and then he shrugged. His overall expression showed that he was impressed with her. "How you did that without cutting off your arms escapes me, but that's pretty awesome. Whoever that was would be down for the count. You could let them bleed through their lungs, slowly, or you could slit their throat."

Lindsey's face slipped into a scowl. That wasn't what she wanted at all, whoever was going to be on the receiving end of those knives, she wanted them dead. Too dead to fight back, not that she was afraid to fight them, but it just made her life easier.

"You're face is going to freeze like that."

She made a rather rude gesture that showed him she didn't care. When she was pulling the knives she felt somebody staring at her. She turned and found Oakleigh staring at her. Lindsey grinned, and waved her fistful of knives at her.

Oakleigh's face deepened into a frown, then she threw the axe in her hand so it imbedded into a dummy's chest. She turned and looked at Lindsey, a brown brow raised.

Lindsey felt her face turn red as she walked back down her lane, then she turned lightning fast and threw one knife, where it stuck right in the eye of the dummy. "May the odds be _ever _in your favor," Her voice was like needles drizzled in chocolate. "Fat ass."

_**District 7, Oakleigh Gilbert**_

Oakleigh gritted her teeth hard enough she thought a few of them were going to break right off in her mouth. She literally saw red as she ran up and grabbed the axe out of the dummy, breaking it free with one good, solid yank.

Oakleigh made her way to a free-standing dummy, made to be abused by weapons and cracked every vertebra in her neck, and then her knuckles. She swung the axe as hard as she could, beating the dummy to shreds.

How _dare_ that District Two bitch call her that! Oakleigh slammed the dummy with the axe, before pulling back to do it again. _She doesn't even __**know**__me! She knows nothing of my morals, what I've worked for my entire life!_ She struck again. _I've been working every day of my life! _She felt her blood pound in her ears. _I am __**NOT**__ fat!_

Something hit the ground and rolled to her feet. Oakleigh's brown eyes looked down to see that she had cut the head of the dummy completely off. She brought her foot back and kicked it across the floor, narrowly missing Jacob Brahmani in the process.

Shakily, she pulled her hair back in a low ponytail; her adrenaline was still pumping as she set the axe back on the rack.

Her brown eyes scanned the room, she had caught the attention of a few other tributes, who were gaping at her with open mouths. Her face turned red as she turned away from their gazes.

_**District 1, Lynette Winters**_

"I am _not_ sticking my hand in there." Lynette said, her perfect brow raised to the mentor who was peevishly trying to force her to stick her hand into something that resembled at padded batting glove. "Other people's hands have _sweated_ in that thing. That's disgusting." She inspected her perfect nails. "Not to mention, it'll ruin my manicure." Her blue eyes flicked to the _very _buff and attractive mentor. "They say imperfect nails are a turn off."

He raised a dark brow under his messy dark brown hair. "I uh, never noticed before."

"You can look at them if you want." She held her aquamarine and glitter-polished nails out for him to see. "Then maybe you can think about getting your girlfriend a mani-pedi."

"I don't have a girlfriend," he said as he held her hand lightly in his own.

She did her best hair toss and smiled at him, "Well, that's hard to believe. Maybe when I win these games we can work something out?" She winked at him.

The color rose in his cheeks, "Uh, yeah. Just put these on?" He tried again, holding the gloves out to her. "These aren't normal gloves, they have sensors in them. They will record your hand movements and help you gain a better understand of what you're fighting with. This suit," He gestured to his well-muscled body, "Has sensors all over it, wherever the gloves come in contact with the sensors it will record it and tell you how effective your hit was."

She curled her lip, but took the gloves anyway, sliding them over her smooth and delicate hands. She looked up at her mentor, who had pulled the hood of the censored-suit up, so it covered his head. "I'm a bit rusty, modeling has kind of taken over my training."

He shrugged his massive shoulders, "Give it a shot."  
Lynette took a deep breath before bringing her right fist to the center of his face, quickly followed by a blow with her left hand to his gut, finished with a lightning fast blow to the groin. When he was doubled over in pain she used his vulnerable position to step around him, keeping her left foot in front of his, then kneed him in the rear, causing him to trip over his feet and lay, face-down on the mat, groaning.

"I thought you said you were rusty?" He asked, weekly.

Lynette crouched next to him, "I am. Are you okay, hot stuff?"

"I think you broke my nose, not to mention you probably caused me to never be able to have kids." He sat up; his brown eyes wincing in pain as he gingerly touched his nose. He dropped his arms down to his side and looked up at her. "_Rusty_?! That was _rusty_?"

"A rusty nail can still give somebody tetanus, can't it?"

_**District 11, Coy Farley**_

Coy had been spending a lot of time learning how to throw a spear…that didn't mean he was good at it. Granted, he wasn't the worst, but he definitely had room to improve. He held the light spear in his hand, feeling like a failure. He could practically hear Clayton's laughter in his head.

He was starting to feel homesick, he had never been away from his home and family for more than a few days at a time, particularly, when it was time for the harvest. But, even when it was time for the harvest, he knew that his chaotic world—the one where he belonged most was only a few miles away. _Here_, in the Capitol, it was a few _hundred_ miles away.

Coy tilted his head from side to side, hearing the vertebrae snap and pop. "That felt good." He grunted.

"That's gross!"

He smiled, facing Bandit Lee. He raised a pale brow, "You can't tell me you've never cracked your knuckles, or your neck before."

"I have." She admitted slowly, her wide, dark blue eyes meeting his gaze. "I just don't like the sound of it when other people do it. It makes me cringe."

He shrugged, feeling a lot like Clayton. "Everybody's different."


	24. Chapter 24: Training Simulations Part On

_**District 2, Slater O'Brien**_

"Tributes, gather 'round!" one of the mentors ordered

Slater exchanged a curious look with a few other tributes as they circled around the mentor on the floor. He crossed his arms and shifted from foot to foot anxiously on the floor... Something brown glinted out of the corner of his eye, he turned in time to see Virginia give him a subtle smile, and he shot her a wolfish grin in return.

In her fist the mentor held up a black suit that appeared to go from one's neck to their ankles. It resembled one of the diving suits he'd seen fishers from District Four wear. This particular one was black with red up the sides. "There are sensors in every inch of these suits. Each of you will put one on and then see Michael to get special electrodes put on your heads, and then you'll follow me to the Green Room, where we will put you in a simulation." Her brown eyes skimmed the suit. "This goes to District One."

Lynette stepped forward and held up her hand. She caught the suit, scanned it then made a disgusted face. "Red is _so_ not my color."

Slater made a face at her, it was just a suit!

She caught him staring at him, her face took on a hint of blush and she looked down. He knew it was because of his eyes. "No offense, but that's why I don't date gingers."

Slater didn't have time to loathe because the man standing next to the woman—Michael, assumingly—Now, remember we don't know what arena you're going to get in the games, this is just a standard simulation. You'll have thirty minutes to be the last tribute left. The sensors in the suit detect if you've been fatally wounded or not." He explained. "Once your suit detects a fatal blow it will lock up, making you unable to move, you will lay on the floor until the simulation is complete."

Each tribute got their skin-tight suits, which allowed free movement. Slater stepped into his and made sure it was zipped up. He turned to Lindsey, hers was identical, with grey up the sides, and as far as he could tell each district had a different color. "How do I look? Stunning, as usual?"

"You look like an idiot, as usual."

"Harsh."

His eyes scanned the rest of the tributes, silently wondering how each suit fit every tribute perfectly, especially Sawyer Coleman, that kid was the size of a mac truck!

"Follow me!" The first mentor, he believed her name was Monique, said.

Slater waggled his eyebrows at Lindsey, the electrodes on his head making his forehead itch.

They followed Monique down a few flights of stairs and through a solid metal door with a sign on the front that read, "GREEN ROOM".

The thirteen tributes piled in to a solid green room with nothing in it.

"I wonder why they call it the "Green Room"." Slater muttered sarcastically.

"I know, right?" Sawyer said from his right, a crooked grin on his face. "It's the most absurd name for this room."

"Will both of you shut up?" Lynette demanded as she strode past them, flipping her perfect brown hair, giving Slater the opportunity to look at her perfect model-quality behind in the stretchy suits.

He heard a low whistle from next to him; he knew that Sawyer was looking at the same thing. Without a word he reached his hand out for a high-five.

Monique's voice came through a speaker system that was bolted firmly into the wall. "Your simulation will start in three, two, one…"

_**District 4, Coralie Alderly**_

"_Your simulation will start in three, two, one..._"

Slowly, before her own eyes a simulation appeared. It was a frozen forest landscape, the cold air, although nonexistent, seemed to penetrate her to the core. Her body wasn't used to the cold, but that didn't matter. She _had_ to win.

_Where are the weapons?_ She thought to herself, her blue-green eyes scanning the white-covered forest. Her breath came out in white puffs.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a flash of dark brown as Cyril darted through the trees, toward a large rock face, where something glinted in the little bit of sunlight that had made its way through the boughs of the pine trees.

She ducked her head and sprinted after him, her small feet leaving footprints in the snow. By the time she had caught up to Cyril he was digging through a pile of weapons, causing some of them to clatter to the ground. She quickly scooped up the closest thing her fingers could find, a large hunting knife and grinned at him.

The weapons were made out of rubber, so it wouldn't hurt him, but it wouldn't have mattered to her if they weren't.

She tackled Cyril over the back of the rock, her small frame on top of his even smaller one. She began to giggle when she saw his brown eyes go wide with fear as he thrashed under her. "If you struggle you'll only make if more fun…for _me_."

He froze for an instant, but when she pressed the "blade" of the knife to the collar of his suit he began to thrash as she drew a slow line from ear to ear.

His scream pierced the ear, and then he went limp, unable to move due to the suits.

Coralie giggled and jumped to her feet as an axe imbedded into the snow next to her. She whirled to find Oakleigh from District Eight standing there, her brown and gold eyes wide as she realized her fatal mistake.

A feral growl starting deep in her core and escaping through her throat sounded from Coralie as she made a move for the chubby tribute, but before she reached her, Oakleigh's eyes widened, she cried out and fell to the ground.

Behind her stood Lindsey, with a smug grin on her face. She waved a fistful of knives at Coralie. "That fat bitch was _mine_." Something moved to Lindsey's immediate left, quick—like a cobra striking—the red-head hurled another knife, causing Ryan Mellark to fall. She fixed her green eyes on Coralie, "And if you touch her in the arena I'll kill you."

Coralie felt herself start to tremble as she slowly walked toward the red-heads. By now the other tributes were engaged in one another and weren't paying attention to them. Her voice was shaking with anger when she said, "You can't tell me who I can and can't kill!"

"Yeah?" Lindsey asked, a red brow raised. "You can't kill me."

Coralie raised her hunting knife. "What makes you so sure?"

"Because she has an ally!" A voice from right behind her sounded right before she was going to stab the red-head.

Coralie turned, her blue-green eyes wide as she faced Slater O'Brien, his hetero eyes full of cold determination. Then, he stabbed her with a rubber sword.

She laughed as the simulation suit gave her a mild shock and she fell to the ground, then she wasn't in the snow-ridden forest anymore. She was back in the green room, laying on the floor, seeing over half the tributes lying on the floor, while the others fought each other in a world she could no longer see.


	25. Chapter 25: Simulations Part Two

**When I origionally wrote the first simulation chapter I wasn't expecting to have as much fun in it, but I wanted to write more, so I did****! Also, when I drew names I took out the "killed" tributes and also drew who would get killed and by whom. It will be similar when the games begin so it's fair. **

* * *

_**District 10, Bandit Lee Highland**_

When the simulation started Bandit's first that was, _Oh god, not snow_. She did not do well in cold conditions _at all_. She clenched her fists and took off toward the mountain of weapons, but she separated from them and dove under a fallen log, she was going to wait until all of the other tributes had left the weapons so she could get a few.

After a few minutes she began to violently shake and her teeth began to chatter, she decided that it wasn't worth losing because she got hypothermia. She crawled out from under her hiding place to see Jacob Brahmani standing over her with a spear, as he cocked back to jam it into her spine she reached out and grabbed his ankles, pulling him into the snow.

Scrambling, Bandit Lee climbed to her feet, retrieving the spear. She stood over Jacob, who was looking at her in defeat. She pressed her lips together, "I don't want to kill you."

"It's just a simulation." He told her. "It isn't real."

"Yet."

He nodded. "Just do it. Right here." He pointed to the spot over his heart. "I'm not going to be mad. This isn't the games yet. Hurry up! Somebody's coming!"

Movement between the trees caught her eye. He was right. "Sorry." She murmured before thrusting the spear to his heart. It didn't stick, it bounced right off, but he gasped and then went limp.

She grabbed the spear, she'd never thrown one before, but at least it was _something_. She wove between the trees, hiding behind one until she saw Lindsey's red hair disappear from the weapon's pile. She climbed it and found a set of arrows and a bow, once her feet were firmly on the ground she felt something tap her shoulder.

"Hi Bandit Lee," Lynette said smiling at her sweetly, but Bandit knew that's what Lynette did for a living, she smiled, no matter what was going on in the world around her. "I'm going to have to kill you." She raised her fists and took a swing.

Bandit ducked, but felt the District One tribute's fist skim her blonde hair. "You—" She stepped to the side of another blow, but a kick swiftly followed, catching her in the gut. She doubled over for an instant before she realized this was the perfect angle for Lynette to attack. She straightened up, trying to get her breath back. "Come on," She wheezed. "I've been kicked by my little sister harder than that." She didn't mention that her little sister was ruthless and wasn't afraid to, quite literally, grab a bull by the horns.

Lynette clenched her jaw and jabbed her in the gut, it was in the same spot as the kick and it hurt a lot more.

Bandit Lee swung her bow and hit Lynette in the face, causing a trickle of blood to come out the District One tribute's nose. She watched in awe as her face turned a brilliant shade of red, before Lynette reached out and grabbed Bandit by the hair.

Bandit felt her body be wrenched around, Lynette's hand at her throat, squeezing. "If you break my face," Lynette hissed slowly, her voice so full of anger and rage it was quivering. "I will ensure your death will be slow and miserable." She tightened her hold on Bandit's throat, but there was a cry out of Lynette and she fell to the snow.

Bandit turned, facing Sawyer Coleman. She rubbed her throat. "Why did you save me?" She demanded.

Sawyer gritted his teeth. "I guess I didn't." He said, anger coloring his voice as he hit her in the chest with a sword.

Bandit felt a shock go through her whole body and she felt her suit stiffen, making it impossible to move, then she fell to the floor.

_**District 3, Sawyer Coleman**_

Sawyer had fought well until he saw Bandit Lee fighting Lynette. He stopped to watch, despite the other tributes around him, who would probably try to kill him. He watched with fascination as Bandit stood, her back straight, chin up, with an attitude that said she wasn't easily intimidated by the trained tribute.

His green eyes widened as he watched her dodge the first few attempts Lynette had used to overthrow her opponent, but then a well placed kick got her in the stomach and it all went downhill from there.

He felt his heart speed up as he watched Lynette choke Bandit, did she realize that this wasn't the actual games? That this was just a simulation? That if she actually choked Bandit that the girl from District Ten would _die_?

Sawyer's first initial reaction was to turn the other cheek and pretend that he didn't see, but then he thought of Sandy and he froze in his tracks. What if that was _his_ little sister? What would he want to happen? Bandit Lee was probably somebody's sister.

As quickly and as silently as he could he strode toward Lynette. She struck her between the shoulder blades with the sword, the girl released her hold on Bandit and fell to the snow.

Bandit faced him, her blue eyes wide and full of confusion as she rubbed her red throat. "Why did you save me?" She demanded angrily.

He frowned, he had just saved her, why would she treat him like this? Did she understand that he had just wanted to help her? Then, he remembered what had happened between the two of them during training the other day. He looked at her face now, and she was looking at him like he was a little kid that needed scolded. It irritated him.

Through his gritted teeth he told her, "I guess I didn't." Then, he stabbed her in the chest with the sword. He didn't watch her hit the snow, he turned and strode off. Something whizzed through the air and hit him in the arm as he was stepping of Alex Flynn's still body. He looked down to his right arm as a large knife bounced off.

He went to grip his sword tighter to attack, but his right arm just dangled at his side uselessly. The suit wouldn't let him use it because it was damaged beyond repair. Sawyer's green eyes scanned through the trees until he saw Slater's red hair. He ran at the red-head, sword in his left hand, and when he reached the tribute he swung at him, hitting him in the neck. "Good thing I'm left-handed." He said smugly.

Virginia Hawthorne dropped out of the tree, and he stabbed her through the side, leaving her on the ground.

He knew that there was one tribute left, Lindsey. He knew that she was deadly accurate with knives and he had to kill her before she killed him. Sawyer strode off to find her, but something hit him in the chest. His green eyes found Lindsey, grinning victoriously as he fell to his knees. He had lost.


	26. Chapter 26: Training Scores Part I

_**District 5, Jacob Brahmani**_

Jacob sat with his hands on his knees as he watched the television set. He knew that in District Five, probably at this exact moment, his parents and his brother were sitting around the television watching—or in Hahn's case, listening—to the same exact thing he was. He was waiting for his training score to be revealed.

He didn't think he did all too great, he had never even touched a weapon in his entire life until he had shown up in the Capitol. What if he had the worst score of all the tributes?

He shook his head, and ran a hand through his almost black hair. He didn't want to think about that. He wished he had somebody to share his anxiety with. More specifically, Hayley.

Sure, Hayley hadn't come from the richest family in District Five, but she was truly a good person. She didn't care that he was rich and she was poor, it didn't matter to her that his parents made him wear fancy clothes, attend boring dinner parties, and social gatherings. She truly cared about Jacob as a person.

Jacob felt a sharp pain in his heart as he thought about her. God, he missed her so much. He had been used to sneaking out of his house and seeing her everyday, but now, he'd probably never see her again, and he knew that.

"From District Five," Caesar Flickerman's cheerful voice said from the television, instantly catching Jacob's attention. "Jacob Brahmani," A picture of Jacob showed on the screen, he had no expression on his olive-toned face. "With a score of seven."

His heart sank. Seven. That was the number that was going to be the death of him. He was sure of it.

_**District 8, Virginia Hawthorne**_

Virginia crossed her legs in the yellow leather armchair as she watched the television intently with blue eyes. She was anxious to see her training score. She had used a pair of scissors to slice a dummy's neck during the trial.

That was why she had been sent to this hellhole anyway, being able to use just about anything found in the common household as a weapon.

She picked at her fingernails, which she had been chewing right down their meager nubs lately. She had been watching the other tributes and their scores and was mildly intrigued. She couldn't help but wonder what the games were going to be like this year, who would come out on top.

Sure, Lindsey had won the simulation, but it was just that. A _simulation_, it wasn't real. In the real arena anything could happen. There were natural enemies in the real arena, maybe that would be Lindsey's downfall, a common cold.

She chortled at the thought. "…Virginia Hawthorne…"

Virginia looked up at the screen, to see a picture of herself behind Caesar's head. She looked strong and intimidating.

"…With a score of nine."

She uncrossed her legs and sat back, a pleased smile settling on her lips. Nine was an okay number.

_**District 1, Lynette Winters**_

Lynette fondled the lamp absentmindedly. She gave her stylist and mentor a disgusted look. She just wanted to be _alone_. The two of them fussed over her constantly. Sure, that's what was going to happen to her when she won the games, but the two of them together were _unbearable_.

"Oh, there's Caesar Flickerman!" Her escort said clapping her hands together. "I absolutely adore him!"

"He's very talented." Her stylist agreed, his voice monotone, like he really didn't care.

"Our first tribute of the night is a model from District One, Lynette Winters…"

Lynette looked at the picture of herself on the screen. She looked fabulous, as usual. Her smile was perfect, her suit fit her perfectly, and her skin looked flawless.

"With a score of ten!"

"Ten!" She exclaimed. "That's perfect!"

_**District 6, Alex Flynn**_

Alex had his nose buried in a book, as usual. He found the tales of previous winners fascinating! Not to mention, the material could help him in the games, at some point. He was vaguely aware of the television blaring out from the corner of the room, but he was able to tune it out.

His mentor had said something along the lines of, "That District One brat was right, you are boring." Followed by, "I need a drink," before he exited the room.

Alex didn't mind, as long as he had a decent book in his hands he didn't care that he was alone. Books were all the company he needed.

Jack had understood that Alex needed his space from time to time. He had never held it over his head, or called him boring.

"From District Six, Alexander Flynn,"

His blue eyes snapped to the television from behind his glasses. He saw himself standing with his arms across his narrow chest, a far-off expression on his face, paired with a look of determination.

"Scoring Ten!"

He pressed his lips together, ten was a decent score."

_**District 10, Bandit Lee Highland**_

Bandit Lee took a deep breath as she stood with her arms folded by the window. She had been overlooking the city when the television had kicked on and she heard Caesar Flickerman's voice broadcast.

She was nervous, Lynette Winters had scored a ten, so had Alex Flynn, she didn't think her score was going to be that good. She hated that she was one of the last to have their scores broadcasted.

She rubbed her arms as a chill went through her at the thought of the games being so close. She saw the flask of gin across the room; she had never drank just to drink before. She had drank whiskey when she had been kicked in the head by a horse to keep the pain out (on her mother's orders), once when they had spent all night out on the fields trying to round up a herd of loose cattle, to keep the chill away.

Bandit Lee crossed the room and lifted the amber liquid to her nose; she took a sniff and instantly recoiled. What did people see in this stuff?

Tentatively, she put it to her lips and took a drink. She felt the liquid warm her throat, followed by a slight dizziness. Then she made a sound of disgust. "Never again! That stuff is horrible!"

She made a face as she heard her name from the television.

"Bandit Lee Highland, from District Ten scored an eight!"

"Eight." She whispered, feeling numb. She knew that was an average score, that she should be pleased, considering she didn't know anything until she came to the Capitol.

_**District 7, Oakleigh Gilbert**_

"Everything is going to be _fine_." Ian assured her from his position on the couch. His blue-grey-green eyes fixed on her pacing form. "Don't work yourself up. I've heard that you're extremely good at axe throwing, I wouldn't worry about it."

Oakleigh looked at him, chewed her bottom lip nervous, nodded and tucked a brown curl behind her ear. "You right." She whispered. "I'm probably being silly."

He nodded at her and patted the red couch next to him.

She sat down and stared at her hands, which had been calloused with years of hard work before she had came to the Capitol and Ian's assistants had smoothed them away. "You know," She said, "My family are huge fans of the games."

"Yeah?" He looked at her, his dark brown hair in perfect disarray, his stubble looking perfect on him.

"Yeah. My uncle was in the games years ago. He made it to the final eight; my family wants the same for me."

"If it counts for anything, so do I."

She smiled at him gratefully, and then heard her name over the television. "Oakleigh Gilbert from District Seven scored…"

She looked _angry_ in the picture behind Caesar Flickerman's head. She looked cold, determined.

"An eight!"

Her heart sank, an eight.

"Hey," Ian said, his fingers clutching her chin, making her heart throb painfully in her chest. "Eight's a good number. I'm proud of you."


	27. Chapter 27: Training Scores Part II

_**District 4, Coralie Alderly**_

Coralie glared at the television from the couch as she braided her hair, unbraided it, the braided it again. She was expecting to get a good score. Not because she was cocky, or from District Four, but because she had spent hours, days, weeks, months, _years_, training for this. She had almost lost her left arm because of this!

She unbraided her hair, then rose from the couch, chewing her lip. She wished that Caesar Flickerman would just hurry up already! She froze as he announced Lynette's score, a ten.

"If that brat gets a ten, then I better get an eleven." She growled. Coralie knew that she was a better fighter than Lynette. With or without weapons.

"Coralie Alderly,"

Her blonde head snapped up to the sound of her name. She saw herself standing behind him on a screen, her face expressionless.

"From District Four, scored…an eleven!"

She smiled in satisfaction. This was good. This was very good.

_**District 3, Sawyer Coleman**_

Sawyer narrowed his green eyes at the rubber band/paperclip bicycle he was making. It was almost finished…he just needed to tweak this one rubber band so the petals and wheels would work.

Ever since he had started working in the factory, building and tinkering with things was something he did to soothe his nerves. There was something about the way things worked, well; for the most part everything worked the same. If it didn't function properly the first time you could tear it apart and start anew.

The rubber band snapped and shot him in the eye, Sawyer clapped his hand to his face as he toppled over backwards in the chair in surprise. "Ow!" He made a sound of irritation and climbed to his knees.

"Sawyer Coleman from District Three, scored…"

Sawyer looked to the screen and grinned. He looked big and intimidating. He looked…_good_.

"A nine!"

He held up the bike in his large hand, studying it. "We can work with that."

_**District 9, Cyril Schist**_

"King me." Cyril told his mentor as he placed his black checker in a square.

"How are you so good at that?" She asked him in amusement.

"Thomas and I used to play all of the time." He told her, his dark brown eyes studied the T.V. where Alex Flynn was on the screen looking stern. "He's really smart."

"Is he?"

Cyril nodded. "And she's strong." He said pointing to Oakleigh's picture on the screen. "I watched her cut the head off a dummy during training. That's hard to do."

His mentor looked at him curiously, then her silver eyes looked to the screen. "There you are, look!"

"From District Nine, Cyril Schist scored a seven!"

"Is that good?" He asked her.

"Good enough."

_**District 2, Lindsey Ardford**_

Lindsey crossed her arms and glared at the television, then shot an irritated look at Slater, who was lounging on the other end of grey couch, about to fall asleep. She grinned evilly as she bent both of her legs and kicked him in the side.

Slater groaned, opening his hetero eyes and grabbing his side. "God, what was that for?" He looked irritated, like a wet cat and she found it amusing.

"You were falling asleep." She saw his look of confusion and quickly recovered. "And you're in my personal space!"

He eyed the couch cushion between the two of them skeptically, "Whatever you say." He grumbled before squeezing himself as far away from her as he possibly could. "Did I miss our scores yet?"

"No, not yet."

Caesar Flickerman grinned broadly on the screen. "From District Two we have two tributes, Slater O'Brien and Lindsey Ardford. Slater scored eleven on his training, and Lindsey scored ten."

Lindsey felt her face heat up. There was no way he could have a better score than her! How was that even possible?! Slater was a nitwit!

He grinned at her, "Not too bad, eh Cuz?"

_**District 11, Coy Farley**_

Coy sat with his head down, his slim arms thrown across his boney knees as he waited for the list of tributes to wind down. When he heard Bandit's name he lifted his head, his green eyes focused on the screen. She looked stunning.

Her golden hair was perfect, her blue eyes wide, and her posture strong. But, to him she still looked a little scared…nervous maybe.

Coy wasn't going to deny it, over the weeks he had started to crush on the girl from District Ten. Who wouldn't? She was strong, brave, smart, and beautiful. He found himself wondering if they would become allies when the games started. He smiled a little to himself. He wouldn't mind spending more time with her, even if it was until one of them died.

"Coy Farley from District Eleven,"

Coy stared at the picture of himself, he was wearing an expression he had never seen on him before, and it was strange. He looked like a warrior, but he knew he wasn't.

"Scored an eight."

He nodded to himself, he had been expecting worse.

_**District 12, Ryan Mellark**_

Ryan looked from the television to his mentor, who was passed out drunk in the leather arm chair next to the window. His dad had always told him Haymitch was a drunk. He didn't think his dad had been lying to him, but he also didn't think that his alcoholism was as severe as it actually was.

"Haymitch," He called.

The old man snored in reply.

Ryan rolled his brown eyes. "Haymitch!" He shouted. When the man didn't stir Ryan rose to his feet and stood over him. "Haymitch!" He shouted, jostling him.

His bloodshot blue eyes opened, fixing on Ryan with deadly clarity, and before Ryan knew what was going on he found himself pinned to the hardwood floor, Haymitch's grubby hands at his throat.

"Haymitch, it's just me!"

Realization dawned on the old man, who climbed off of him as he scratched the back of his neck. "Sorry Peeta—I mean Ryan."

"It's okay."

"Ryan Mellark, son of the infamous Peeta Mellark, scored a nine!"

"Nine." Haymitch repeated. "Not bad, but still not very good."


	28. Chapter 28: Interviews Part I

_**District 1, Lynette Winters**_

Lynette stood in the wings of the stage, her hands smoothing out the short, ruffled skirt of her light blue dress. She felt that her stylist had made the right decision (after much screaming and stubbornness from herself) to put her in the dress.

It flattered her figure perfectly and showed skin in all of the right places.

She stared out at Caesar Flickerman as he sat in his seat, talking to the Capitol and the cameras, man, could he captivate an audience.

"Our first contestant," He said, his violet hair reflecting the lights. "Is from District One, she specializes in hand-to-hand combat, which is combat with no weapons. Her name, ladies and gentlemen, is Lynette Winters!" He rose and gestured to her.

The audience roared as she stepped onto the stage, beaming. She placed her hand lightly in Caesar's, and let him guide her to her chair, which directly across from his own. She sat down, crossed her legs, tossed her brown hair, and smiled at him.

"Hello, Lynette. How are you this evening?" He asked, sitting across from her, smiling back.

"I'm great, Caesar. How about yourself?"

"I'm good, thanks for asking." He crossed his ankle over his thigh. "So, Lynette, weren't you a model back in District One?"

"I was."

"Didn't you train, too?"

"Well, when I was fifteen, I started getting serious about my modeling career," Pictures of her modeling appeared on the screen behind her, causing cheers to erupt through the crowd. "I quit training for it."

"You look gorgeous, by the way." He said smiling at her. "Now, why did you choose hand-to-hand combat?"

"Well, there are times in the arena when there aren't any weapons available, the only thing you can use is yourself, and it was very important that I be able to defend myself in case something was to happen."

"I see." He said, his face serious now. "Lynette, tell us…how prepared are you for the games?"

She smiled her best smile at him. "I am very prepared, Caesar."

He rose, straightening out his lavender suit before he offered his hand to help her up. "Ladies and gentlemen, Lynette Winters!"

Lynette bowed as they cheered, the Capitol loved her!

_**District 2, Slater O'Brien**_

Slater stood silently as Lynette exited the stage, and then Caesar introduced him. He put on his best mischievous grin and strode out onto the stage, the collar of his dress shirt under his sweater vest seemed a little too tight.

He grasped Caesar's hand firmly, then sat across from him.

"Slater, you're from District Two, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"There is also another tribute here from your district—Lindsey?"

"Yes."

"What was it like to _tie_ another tribute, a girl no less."

Slater shrugged his shoulder. "Lindsey is a very fierce and dedicated girl. It didn't surprise me at all that she was reaped. _I _was more in shock about being reaped than she was."

"Now, she's your cousin yes?"

"Yes she is."

"What is your relationship with her like? Do you get along very well, are you friends, do you hate each other?"

Still grinning, Slater replied, "Lindsey and I tend to have a love-hate relationship." He chuckled, "She _loves_ to hate me."

Caesar laughed heartily, but was soon serious. "Now, you have some very interesting physical features."

Slater froze, he knew exactly where this conversation was going, and he didn't like it. Not. One. Bit. He rubbed his brown eye, then dropped his hands in his lap.

"Like, your red hair. But to me, and I'm sure the rest of the Capitol can agree, your most distinguishing feature is your eyes. Are they real or were you born like that?"

Slater sighed, "Yes, they're very real. I wasn't born like this, though. You see, I had an accident and it caused them to be like this. I'm very insecure about it."

"I see." His tone was sympathetic. "Would you like to share about the accident?"

Slater shook his head, then grinned again. "No, I want people to know as "the kid that had an accident. I want them remember me because I'm an excellent fighter, and I don't want their sympathy. I want them to see me as the strong, intimidating tribute from District Two."

Caesar leapt to his feet. "You heard him ladies and gentlemen!"

Slater shook Caesar's hand, then strode off the stage, ignoring the kick Lindsey aimed at his shin when he walked by.

_**District 2, Lindsey Ardford**_

Lindsey wasn't big into fashion, but she _loved_ the dress her bitchy stylist had put her in. It was solid dark green sequins, tied into a halter top around her neck, fell to her ankles and split up her left thigh. It made her feel sexy.

She strode onto stage, Caesar pretended to cover his eyes when she walked through. "Wow, how about that dress?! Isn't it stunning!"

She thanked him, then sat across from him.

"Now Lindsey, you and your cousin scored the same for the reaping, but you lost to him in your training score by one point. Why do you think that is?"

"Well," she said, ignoring the flare of anger that appeared inside her at the thought, "I think it's because Slater is well trained with a very wide variety of weapons, whereas I tend to stick with throwing knives."

"Mhmm." Caesar nodded, his brown eyes fixed on her. "Now, what do you think your chances are in the Hunger Games?"

"I think my chances are very good." She told him. "I won in the training simulation a few days ago, I feel that that is how it's going to work in the arena."

"Many years ago, when Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen were in the games, a rule was created that stated two tributes of the same district can win the games. Are you both going to try and make it home?"

Lindsey paused. She hadn't thought about it before. She thought about it carefully before replying. "We'll see."

He nodded knowingly. "Now, you're very small, but according to Slater, you're very fierce. Do you think that that will be an advantage or a disadvantage in the arena?"

She raised a red brow, "We'll have to wait and see."

_**District 3, Sawyer Coleman**_

Looking around, Sawyer could see the nerves on the other tributes' faces. He wasn't nervous in the slightest, probably because he'd presented inventions and ideas in front of total strangers many times before. He made sure everything was smoothed down in his charcoal suit before smiling broadly and striding out on stage like he owned it. He was going to try and charm his way to sponsors.

He winked at the audience as he strode to Caesar, then smiled down at him as he shook his hand.

"How are you today, Mr. Coleman?" Caesar asked him.

"Not too bad, how about yourself?"

"I'm great." Caesar chuckled and looked Sawyer up and down as he sat across from him, "Good lord, how did they find enough material to clothe you?"

Sawyer laughed good-naturedly. "I think they had to borrow some."

"Sawyer, do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"I have a little brother named Sebastian, and a very little sister named Sandra."

"I'm sure you miss them."

"I do."

"If I can recall correctly," Mr. Flickerman said, "You are the person who created the motion-sensitive, mobile cameras that were used in the Hunger Games. How does that feel? Knowing at that the very thing you created will be watching your every move in a few days?"

Sawyer stared at him evenly with his green eyes. "You know, I had never thought that it would affect me until I was reaped. I actually forgot about them. It's a little bit of a harsh reality."

Caesar nodded somberly. "I'd imagine so. Now, do you have any plans for allies in the arena?"

Sawyer's thoughts flickered instantly to Bandit Lee, but he shut the idea down before the words came out of his mouth, she wasn't particularly fond of him. "Not yet, but there's still some time to think about it."

"Indeed there is." Caesar rose to his feet, holding up Sawyer's hand. "Sawyer Coleman from District Three, everybody!"


	29. Chapter 29: Interviews Part II

_**District 4, Coralie Alderly**_

Coralie hated her dress, but there wasn't much she could do about it. Not while she was striding across the stage, her face blank, revealing nothing.

She didn't want to be here, in the interviews, talking to people.

She sat across from Caesar Flickerman, her fingers tapping anxiously on the arm of her chair.

"Coralie, you're fairly young. How old are you, exactly?" Caesar asked.

She tried not to think how ridiculous his hair looked, but said. "I'm fourteen. A lot of people think I'm twelve."

"You're one of our youngest tributes. Do you have any specialized weapons?"

"I'm very accurate with throwing knives."

"Do you think you and Lindsey will have issues in the arena?"

"It's hard to say." She said, her blue-green eyes scanning all of the strange faces of the Capitol citizens.

"How prepared are you for the games?"

"I'm very prepared, I've been waiting for this my entire life. I want to bring pride to District Four, who hasn't had a victor since Finnick Odair."

"Coralie, what do you plan to do if you win?"

"I plan on becoming a mentor."

"That's a very good goal to have, I have faith that you will do just fine." He rose to his feet and helped her up. "Coralie Alderly, from District Four!"

_**District 5, Jacob Brahmani**_

Jacob was practically having flashbacks from the stuffy parties and public events his mother always made him go through. His dark brown suit was practically strangling him. He wanted to be back at his temporary flat in sweatpants and a t-shirt.

"Our next tribute," Caesar Flickerman said pleasantly, "Is a brave young man from District Five, who volunteered for his brother. His name, ladies and gentlemen, is Jacob Brahmani!"

Jacob's long legs carried him to the purple-clad man. He extended an arm and shook his hand before seating himself across from him, as he tried as hard as he could to ignore the citizens of the Capitol staring at him.

"You volunteered for your brother, why?"

Jacob cleared his throat, "I had no doubt that Hahn could do it, but he's blind. He's had such a hard life already, I didn't want to watch him die in the bloodbath. He's my brother. He's my best friend."

"That's very touching. What's your relationship with him like?"

"He's always been there for me when I needed him most," Jacob said. "Like I just said, we're best friends. We have been since we were ten. When my parents took him in it was one of the happiest days of my life. We were practically inseparable."

"Speaking of your parents," The man said, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward. "Your father is the mayor of District Five, what is that like for you?"

"Well, it's kind of difficult, I'm a kid. I want to hang out with my friends, have a girlfriend, mess around, and play sports. I don't really like having to attend the parties and the social events. It's also kind of hard being the mayor's kid. Everybody knows who you are."

"I see." He shook Jacob's hand one last time, "Jacob Brahmani from District Five, everyone!"

_**District 6, Alex Flynn**_

For Alex, being in a nice suit was…different. Back home, in District Six, he mostly wore jeans and flannels while he worked. He had never owned a suit before. His lips pressed into a thin line until Caesar announced his name. He walked, feeling thousands of eyes burning into him as she shook the host's hand and sat across from him.

"Alexander—"

"Please, call me Alex."

"Okay, Alex. You're a very smart guy, with quite a list of achievements in your district. What something that you have done recently that you consider an achievement?"

"Well," Alex said, tossing his white-blonde hair out of his face and pushing his glasses farther up his nose. "I graduated high school a few months ago."

"Really?" Caesar asked, a purple eyebrow raised. "That's astonishing! How old are you?"

"I'm sixteen."

"Wow, isn't that astonishing ladies and gentlemen?" Caesar asked, earning Alex whoops and cheers from the audience. "Now, a smart guy like you has to have a strategy for the games. What would that strategy be?"

Alex didn't want to give away his plans, he didn't want the other tributes watching him to mess everything up. He let out a small chuckle, "My plans are to stay alive. So, I can get home to the people I love." He thought of Jack, sitting in the moth-eaten armchair next to the woodstove as he watched the television with Allen.

"Yes, loved ones are very important. They are the glue that holds families together. Do you have a special person at home?"

"I do."

"What's her name?"

"_His _name is Jack."

For some reason that caused the citizens of the Capitol to go ecstatic, they were off their feet, screaming, whistling, and cheering for him.

"Very well," Caesar stood, holding up Alex's hand. "Alex Flynn, from District Six!"

_**District 7, Oakleigh Gilbert**_

Oakleigh clenched and unclenched her fists at her sides as Ian sewed a gather at the hip of her bronze dress.

"Wool ooystah tah?" He asked quietly through a mouthful of thread.

"What?" She asked him moving her arm to look down at him.

He bit off the last strand of thread, inspected his work. "I said, 'will you stop that'? Why do you think that everyone is going to hate you all of the time?"

"I—I don't know. Lindsey hates me."

"Lindsey is a hateful bitch from District Two." He reminded her, straightening from his crouch. "You look fabulous."

She smiled at him. "Thanks."

"Get your curvaceous butt out there." He said gently shoving her in the direction of the stage. She faltered uneasily on her high-heeled shoes, but recovered. She walked as gracefully as she possibly could to Caesar.

"Look at you!" he said gesturing to her and her dress. It was a bronze color, tight in all of the right places, without making her look fat, with a silver pin on her right hip with inlaid rhinestones. "You look marvelous!"

"Thank you," she said sitting across from him. She felt marvelous, for the first time in her entire life. "My stylist worked very hard on this dress."

"I'm sure he did." Caesar said knowingly. "Now, there's a lot of woods in District Seven. Right?"

She nodded, "Oh, yes."

"What was it like growing up in the woods?"

"It wasn't horrible. I learned to familiarize myself with the forest and the trees. My brother and I would play outside until it got dark."

"So if the arena is a forest you should feel at home?"

"I _should_."

"How did you feel when you were reaped?"

"I couldn't believe it." She told him honestly, "I thought that there had to have been _somebody_, _anybody_ who scored higher than I did. But, I guess not."

He nodded sympathetically. "Now, we all know that one of the keys to winning the Hunger Games is often having allies. Do you have any allies or rivals yet?"

"I haven't given much thought to allies, but Lindsey Ardford and I don't get along very well, I guess we could be considered rivals. But, things can always change in the arena."

"Indeed they can." He rose, helping Oakleigh out of her seat. "Oakleigh Gilbert from District Seven, everybody!"


	30. Chapter 30: Interviews Part III

_**District 8, Virginia Hawthorne**_

Virginia walked across the stage, trying to ensure that her smile was going to stay on her face. It was hard to hear herself think over the roar of Capitol citizens and her nervous heartbeat. She shook Caesar Flickerman's hand, trying hard not to stare. Her mother had always been a huge fan of his.

"Please," He motioned in a friendly manner to the chair. "Have a seat."

Virginia sat, smoothing out her purple skirt.

"You're a fairly long way from District Eight."

"I am." She agreed, trying to keep her tone light and friendly.

"Are you feeling homesick at all?"

Virginia thought back to her job at the textiles factory, she didn't miss _that_. She thought of her mother and father sitting in the living room around the television, her mother drinking like a sailor and her father ignoring that fact that she even existed. Her thoughts drifted to Mikey, his friendly and energetic demeanor; no matter how annoying he was he did make her laugh. She supposed, she did miss him.

"A little bit, yes."

"That's terrible."

"It isn't as bad as you might think." She assured him. "I'm making plenty of new friends here and I'm learning something new every day."

"Well, that is a good thing, isn't it? Now, you have a special talent, you can find a common object, like the scissors we saw in your training video, and turn it into a weapon. Who taught you that?"

"Well," she tossed her dark hair over her shoulder. "I realized that anything could be used as a weapon somehow. At times, it may not be effective, but a weapon is a weapon. In the games I would have no issues stabbing a pen through somebody's hand in order to disarm them."

"I see, that's very…interesting. What do you hope this year's arena looks like? Do you feel that you will have an advantage in a certain setting?"

She shook her head, "I'm hoping this year's arena is full of resources, no matter the setting."

"Very good." He rose, smoothed out his lavender hair, than helped her to her feet. "From District Eight, Virginia Hawthorne!"

_**District 9, Cyril Schist**_

"From District Nine, he is our _youngest_ tribute, he is the _fastest_ tribute…give him a hand, ladies and gentlemen, Cyril Schist!"

Cyril couldn't help but grin as he ran onto the stage. Thomas was probably watching him right now! He wanted Thomas to see that he wasn't scared anymore. That he was capable of being brave.

Caesar laughed as he shook Cyril's hand. "It's good to see you, Cyril." He sat across from him, looking strange with purple hair and eyebrows. "Now, what is it like being the youngest tribute?"

He shrugged. "It's isn't that bad. I'm learning a lot every day from some of the older ones. For the most part, I think they like me."

"That's good. It isn't scary?"

"Meeting new people is always scary." He admitted. "But everybody here is pretty nice, so it wasn't that bad. Not to mention, I could outrun them if I had to." He said grinning.

The audience laughed along with Caesar. "Speed alone won't help you win the games. Are you training with any weapons?"

"I have been practicing with the bow and arrows." Cyril admitted, his dark eyes meeting Caesar's as he tried not to stare into the cameras. "Swords and axes are a little too heavy for me to lift and swing."

Caesar nodded, "Mhmm. What were you thinking when you heard your name get called at the reaping?"

"At first I was scared, but then I realized that it was kinda cool. By brother, Thomas told me that I had to be brave, so I decided that's what I'm going to do."

"Good for you!" Caesar exclaimed over the roar of the crowd. "Cyril Schist from District Nine!"

_**District 10, Bandit Lee Highland**_

Bandit couldn't control the pounding in her chest. She looked down to see her hands shaking at her sides. She clenched them into fists. She tucked a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear, made sure her little red dress wasn't riding up too far, and walked as confidently as she could to center stage.

"You look excellent!" Caesar exclaimed taking her hand. "Sit, please."

Bandit Lee sat down and crossed her legs, she felt naked and exposed. She wished that she had her favorite pair of jeans and her cowboy boots on. "Thank you." She told him, her blue eyes wide as she scanned the crowd.

"In District Ten there is a lot of flatland, a lot of cattle, and horses. What is it like being in the Capitol instead of being home?"

"It's extremely different." She admitted. "Back home the barn silos are the biggest structures in the district. Here, you have buildings that are twenty stories high!"

"Do you like being here in the Capitol?"

"Well," she looked down as she tapped her red-tipped fingers on her thigh. "It's okay. I'd rather be home working on the ranch and riding my horse, though."

Behind her, the screen lit up, revealing a picture of her chasing a calf on her horse, Casanova while she caught it in the loop of her rope during the District Ten rodeo. It instantly made her sick. She missed her horse…her best friend.

"I see. You were the District Ten champion last year, correct?"

"I was." She nodded.

The citizens of the Capitol whistled and cheered.

"Well, how do you feel about your training score?"

"An eight isn't the worst score I could have gotten, but it could have been better."

Caesar rose, helped her to her feet, and then held her hand high. "Bandit Lee Highland, from District Ten, everybody!"

_**District 11, Coy Farley**_

Coy watched as Bandit Lee strode off the stage, looking beautiful—sexy, even—in her mid-thigh red dress. He checked to make sure his cufflinks were hooked before hearing his name.

"From District Eleven, Coy Farley!"

Coy walked onto the stage, shook Caesar's hand, and then sat in his proper place. He clasped his hands in front of him and grinned at the host.

"Rumor has it that you come from a very large family, Mr. Farley." Caesar asked, raising a purple brow.

"I have a pretty big family," he admitted. "I have a younger brother named Clinton, twin sisters, Clarissa and Caty, and a baby brother, Clay."

"Wow, that's _impressive_. I'm sure you help your mother around the house?"

Coy nodded. "My dad works in the fields all day, so when I get home from work I do the best I can to help her restore order."

"Do you have a special bond with any of your siblings?"

His thoughts turned to Clinton. "My brother, Clinton and I, we fight like dogs, but in the end we'd do just about anything for each other."

"That's sweet." Caesar said sympathetically. "Have you made any allies here in the Capitol?"

"No official allies yet," He said, thinking of Bandit Lee. "But, we'll see what happens when we get into the arena."

Caesar clasped his hands in front of him, "If you win the games, what are your plans?"

Coy snorted, "If by some miracle, I win the Hunger Games, I'm going to buy a nice, big house for my family and my dad will never have to work again."

"That sounds wonderful. Coy Farley, from District Eleven!"

_**District 12, Ryan Mellark**_

For what seemed to be the fiftieth time, Ryan Mellark wiped his sweaty hands on his slacks. He took deep, calming breathes. Not long ago, his own father had stood in this very spot, had an interview with this very man, and had probably thought the very thoughts Ryan was thinking now.

_I'm not coming out of these games alive._

"He's the son of a previous tribute," Caesar Flickerman announced dramatically, "You know his father, Peeta Mellark! Now, it's time to meet his son, Ryan Mellark!"

Ryan walked onto the stage and smiled. He shook Caesar's hand a sat across from him.

"You look like your father." Caesar said.

"Don't insult me like that!" Ryan said grinning, earning himself laughter from the audience. "I'm just kidding. I've been told that I look like my father. Actually, a few times my mentor has called me by his name."

"That's funny." Caesar said laughing good-naturedly. "Ryan, what is it like following in your father's footsteps."

"Scary." He said, earning a himself another laugh. "It's, uh, pretty scary. I don't wanna disappoint my dad, you know. Uh, I want to live up to his good name."

"I'm sure that's somewhat stressful."

He shrugged and waved the thought away. "Nah."

"What skills do you have that could be an asset for yourself in the arena."

"Well, I've inherited my dad's touch for art. So, I'm pretty good at camouflaging myself into my surroundings."

"That is a good skill to have."

"Yes it is." He agreed, nodding. He pushed a hand through his brown hair, making sure he didn't have a cowlick.

"How many people do you have in your family?"

"It's just me and my dad." Ryan said. "My mother died years ago, which is why I'm going to try hard to win. My dad needs me."

"That's very sweet, Ryan." Caesar said, rising to his feet. "District Twelve's Ryan Mellark!"


	31. Chapter 31: The World Will Turn On

**This is just a filler chapter because I didn't want to jump right into the games, but don't worry. The games are starting the next chapter!**

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_**District 8, Virginia Hawthorne**_

Virginia stood outside the building where the tributes and their groupies (aka: mentors, stylists, stylists' assistants, etc.) were staying. Each floor was dedicated to a district, except for the first floor, which was a lavish lobby. She tried to ignore the peacekeepers, which were hovering over her like a bad omen.

"Do you ever have your shoes on?" A skeptical voice asked her.

She shrugged. "I don't like them, they suffocate my feet. Feet need to breathe too, ya' know."

Slater stuffed his hands in his pockets and stood at her side, bringing him his own set of peacekeepers. "What are you doing out here?"

"I wanted to see the stars." She admitted.

He squinted and covered his eyes with his hand, like he was shading it from the sun. He gazed up at the inky sky, which was tinged with city light. "I don't see any."

"They aren't out."

"It's because we're in the city, you know. I'm sure there will be some in the arena tomorrow night."

She turned to him, "Some of us won't have tomorrow night." She swallowed back the lump in her throat, tried to blink away the tears.

"Hey now," He told her. His hands gently cupped her face, his skin cool against her red face. He wiped the stray tears away. "You have just as much chance as anyone else in those games. Got it?"

Staring into his hypnotizing eyes, Virginia nodded.

He released her.

Somewhere down the street a woman screamed, the four peacekeepers looked at each other then three of them took off down the block. The fourth looked at the pair of them, "Promise me you won't kill each other?"

They both nodded and watched as he hurried down the sidewalk, following the other grey-clad figures ahead of him.

"You're still in your outfit." Virginia observed, running her blue eyes over the sweater vest. "It looks…different."

"Bad different, or good different?" He asked her quietly.

"Good." She murmured, aware that he was extremely close to her.

"You're still in your dress. It's different." He said looking down at her, his breath caressing her face.

"Good different or bad different?" She whispered back, a shiver running down her spine at being so close to him.

"Good. _Very_ good. It makes me want to do…_things_ to you. Things that would get us into a lot of trouble."

"Like?" Her face was heating up, her bones turning to jelly.

He tipped her chin up and brought his lips down on hers, at first the kiss was tentative, like he didn't want to be rejected, but when she reached up and fisted her hand in his fiery red hair it became fierce.

Virginia's heart was thudding painfully in her chest; she had never kissed a boy like this before. She felt…reckless. She _liked _it!

"Hey!" A peacekeeper shouted, returning from the previous scuffle. "You kids stop that!"

She stopped kissing him and looked up at him. "That's a peacekeeper."

"I don't care."

_**District 3, Sawyer Coleman**_

Sawyer stood with his hands in his jacket pocket as he looked out the window that showed the lights from the Capitol. He didn't want to go to sleep because some part of him thought that if he didn't sleep tomorrow wouldn't come, and then he wouldn't have to go into the games.

He tipped his head back, swallowing a mouthful gin in a giant gulp. At least the peacekeepers didn't care if the tributes drank or not. He guessed it didn't matter if you were going to die anyway.

He ran a hand through his sandy hair, turning his head as he heard a squeak from the end of the hall. "You're a long way from the eleventh floor." He looked at Bandit Lee; she looked phenomenal in her short, red dress. "You should be asleep."

"You're one to talk." She said, her arms crossed in front of her. "We're going to have one hell of a day tomorrow. We should probably rest up for it."

He looked at her, and then shrugged his massive shoulders. He took another drink. "I can sleep when I'm dead." Sawyer couldn't help but chuckle at his own little joke, but stopped when he caught her staring at him in incredulity.

"You're drunk!"

"Not quite, love. Gimme' a few more minutes and I might be." He chuckled again.

"Don't call me that!" She snapped, recoiling from him. "I'm glad you think this is hilarious, us being in front of death's doors, and all."

"Nice metaphor."

Her face turned red as her blue eyes flickered with fury, it quickly melted away. Almost hesitantly, she reached her hand toward the bottle, which he willingly gave to her. She took a long drink, and then winced. "I told myself I was never going to drink that stuff ever again." She took another pull, "But, I think I can make an exception."

He watched her sink the floor of the hall, crossing her legs in front of him. He raised a brow at her, then shrugged. "What the hell." Then he joined her on the floor. He took a swig from the bottle and handed it back. "What are you doing here?"

"I couldn't sleep." She admitted.

"It doesn't look like you tried. You're still in your dress."

She tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, "I didn't. I don't know if I want to go to sleep. If I fall asleep, that means I have to wake up. You know?"

His green eyes studied her face. Sawyer understood completely. "No."

"Maybe if I don't go to sleep tomorrow will never come."

That was exactly what he had been thinking just before she showed up. Sawyer handed the bottle back to her, "That's the _stupidest_ thing I've ever heard."

She glared at him, shoving the bottle into his hands roughly. She rose, pulling her skirt down as far as she could, running her fingers through her blonde hair. "You are _so_ rude! Just because you're _drunk_ doesn't give you an excuse to be an asshole!" She turned and stomped down the hall.

Sawyer called after her, "I'm not the only one that's drunk!"

The slamming of the door answered him, leaving him to sit in his own silence. He stared at the bottle in his hand. "It's just you and me, partner."

_**District 5, Jacob Brahmani**_

Jacob didn't care that he had been sprinting up and down his hall for the past forty minutes. He didn't care that the sweat was dripping off his black hair into his eyes; he just wiped it away and kept running. His mentor had stuck his head out the door a while ago and yelled at him. Jacob just ignored him.

Jacob was_ freaking_. _Out._

When he arrived back in his suite he immediately stripped himself of his horrendous suit and changed into a pair of basketball shorts and a cut-off t-shirt, plopped himself onto couch, and turned on the television.

Every single channel talked about the upcoming Hunger Games. There was a buzz of excitement in the Capitol, and it dawned on him that the Hunger Games were _the next day_.

He felt like a two ton weight was dropped onto his chest. He jumped off the couch; he had to do something, _anything_ to relieve the stress. Which, was why he decided to run up and down the hall.

Finally, he stopped. He felt a little bit better about the Hunger Games starting tomorrow, but he didn't feel good in his sweaty, sticky clothes.

Jacob laced his fingers behind his sweaty head, gasping for air. He stared out the window, knowing full well that tomorrow was going to be hell.


	32. Chapter 32: Bloodbath

**Okay, here is the first chapter of the Hunger Games! Everything is drawn at random, which worked out surprisingly well for this chapte. First, I draw the tribute who's POV(s) it is going to be. Then, I draw the tribute that will be killed (if the chapter calls for it. Some may not die at all in some chapters). It's all random and very exciting!**

* * *

_**District 6, Alex Flynn**_

Alex stood in the locker room by himself. His stylist had already said his goodbyes and made like a banana and split. He crossed his arms over his chest to keep himself from shaking as he stood facing the tube that would take him up to the surface.

"I can't believe this is it." He muttered to no one in particular. His blue eyes took in as many details of the locker room as they could, this was the last thing he would see before he was in the arena. Puke green tiles, which were worn and cracked with old age, mold growing in the grout, a damp, sour smell, and the sound of leaking water.

Alex pressed his lips into a thin line, glanced at the peacekeepers and then to his sneakers. They were orange and grey, just like his sweat suit and coat.

"Ten, nine, eight…" A voice said over the speakers.

"Step into the tube, sir." One of the peacekeepers commanded.

Alex stepped onto the tube, pushed his glasses up his nose.

"Seven…six…five…"

He clenched and unclenched his fists a few times, they were clammy and cold with nerves. "Alexander," he whispered to himself. "You can do this. You're genius. You can make it home to Jack."

"Four…Three…Two…One."

The tube began to rise slowly, his heart began to pound so heard in his chest that it actually hurt. When it finally came to a stop Alex opened his eyes, his mouth falling open.

"A dystopian city!" He breathed.

All around him the remains and ruins of what must have once been a grand city stood silently and dejectedly. Some of the buildings were still intact, but a lot of them were in shambles. There was charred rubble lying in the streets, buildings were missing windows, some were missing walls.

In the center of what looked like a town square stood The Cornucopia, goods and supplies spilling out.

Alex looked around, to his right stood Ryan, who glanced at him and mouthed one word, "Allies?"

Alex nodded subtly.

On his left, Jacob's brown eyes were focused on The Cornucopia. He had one knee bent, like a sprinter.

The counter ticked down, each second felt like a millennia. "Four…Three…Two…ONE!" The horn sounded, and thirteen tributes took off running.

_**District 10, Bandit Lee Highland**_

When the horn sounded Bandit Lee paused for just a moment. She hadn't been sure which way to run, ideally, she was going to run away, but she needed supplies! She decided that she would run in, grab something, and the run out.

She jumped off the pedestal, most of the tributes were ahead of her, but it didn't take her long to pass the majority of them. Cyril and Jacob were the only two tributes ahead of her. She bent her blonde head and pumped her arms, gasping for air.

When Bandit reached The Cornucopia she dove inside, digging through the things that she needed. All she wanted was a backpack!

Something skimmed the air past her shoulder, she shrieked in surprise as she felt a sting. Her blue eyes found Jacob standing above her, panting. His chocolate colored eyes were wide, his face horrorstruck, like he couldn't believe what he had just done.

Bandit gritted her teeth, seized the nearest pack and ran at him, she swung it at his face, striking him in the head.

Jacob fell to the ground, looking up at her.

Bandit darted out the cornucopia, hiding herself against one of the sides. She needed to breathe before she took off running again, or she'd collapse.

Lynette's screamed pierced the air as she moved around the corner. She had a gash bleeding from her head, the blood was running thick in rivulets down her face. "Come here you little brat!" She snarled.

Cyril screamed, trying to struggle free, but Lynette held firm.

She slammed him against the shiny sides of The Cornucopia and pinned him there. "_Nobody_. Hurts. My. Face!" She sneered before reaching up and snapping his thin neck on his shoulders.

Bandit heard herself cry out as she watched Cyril's young body fall onto the grass, the canon boomed, signaling his death. She turned, and sprinted away, as fast as her legs could carry her.

_**District 2, Lindsey Ardford**_

Lindsey made it to The Cornucopia and immediately started sifting through the weapons. "Knives," She muttered sifting through the weapons. She found a set of them, turned to leave, but was promptly knocked down on her butt.

"You aren't going anywhere!" Oakleigh sneered, looking tall and fierce. Her brown eyes were blazing as she raised the axe.

"What?" Lindsey demanded, "Are you going to kill me? I'm _scared_." She laughed as she rose to her feet.

Oakleigh took a step back, regarding her carefully.

Lindsey shook her head, waving a knife around. "I don't think so." She told her with each shake of the knife. "_You_ don't get to threaten _me_ and get away with it."

"What makes you think you can threaten me?" Oakleigh asked. She was pretending to be strong, but her gold/brown eyes were searching for an exit. She was scared.

Lindsey laughed, it was cynical sounding, even to her own ears. "I _don't_ threaten." She said darkly. "I make promises." With a flick of her wrist a knife flashed out of her hand and into Oakleigh's chest.

Oakleigh looked down at her chest, her mouth falling open as blood began to spread over her jacket. She fell to her knees weakly. She didn't fall, though. She just kept staring at Lindsey. The other tribute reached up and pulled the knife out of her chest, allowing it to clatter to the floor. The blood stained her chubby fingers crimson.

Lindsey waited a few moments, to see if she would fall over dead, but Oakleigh stayed just like that. "You just can't go easily, can you?" She asked as she approached her. She found herself grinning as she pressed the cool blade to the right side of Oakleigh's throat, causing blood to trickle. "Too bad the odds _weren't_ in your favor." She hissed before slowly slitting the other tribute's throat.

"Are you done playing your little games?" Slater asked her, his expression bored. "All of the other tributes left."

Lindsey looked from him, to Lynette—who was bleeding ferociously from a head wound, and Coralie, who was standing silently as she observed them. Her green eyes flicked to Oakleigh, "Isn't she dead yet? I haven't heard a canon." She stepped over the lifeless tribute and knelt so she was looking in her eyes. "You're a bitch. Even in death."

_Boom_!

She stood, "Much better. Let's get as much of this stuff as we can. I don't want to stay here, the other tributes will come back eventually. I say we take what we can, then booby trap it."

"Burn it." A voice said.

She looked at Coralie in surprise. She had never heard the District Four tribute speak before. "That's a good idea. Take what we can, burn the rest."


	33. Chapter 33: Day Two

_**District 4, Coralie Alderly**_

Coralie sat with her back propped up against the brick wall, facing the other tributes, who were sleeping. She hadn't volunteered to take watch, nobody had, but she didn't want to be asleep if somebody decided that they wanted to kill their fellow Careers.

Their fire was low and wasn't throwing off much light; it wouldn't give them away to other tributes.

She studied each of her sleeping competitors carefully.

Lindsey was rolled away from the fire, her long, red hair tied up in a knot on top of her head, she was breathing so lightly she could have been dead.

Lynette was sleeping next to the wall, she had wiped the majority of the crusty, dried up blood off her face, revealing a deep gash above her left eye, where Cyril had tried to hit her with an axe that had been entirely too heavy for him.

Slater was rolled on his side, facing Coralie. He had found a pair of polarized aviators in one of the survival packs and had instantly claimed them, practically doing a happy dance as he put them on. He was sleeping in them now, the orange glow of the coals reflecting off them as he lightly snored.

Coralie's thoughts instantly migrated to his death. She turned one of her knives over and over in her fingers; it would be easy to plunge one of them into his heart while he slept. She would have one less tribute to get in her way.

She let the knife clatter gently to the ground, she shook her blonde head. She needed allies if she was going to survive in these games. When push came to shove, she'd kill them in the end, but until then she needed them alive.

_**District 8, Virginia Hawthorne**_

Blinding light woke Virginia out of her restless sleep. She groaned, rolled over, and then remembered where she was. She sat up in the dumpster, it had been empty, no waste in it at all—not even dumpster sludge! It had just been dusty and sooty.

Carefully, Virginia peered out of the dumpster; she heard talking then silently slipped back into the farthest corner, the half still covered by the plastic lid.

"The only way we're going to win this is if we think about everything logically." It was Alex Flynn.

"What does that mean?" Ryan asked him. "We let the Careers kill everybody else and then each other, and then when it's just us we play rock paper scissors to see who wins?"

"We have to wait and see how everything plays out."

"Okay."

Something darted into the corner of Virginia's vision; she clapped her hand over her mouth to keep herself from crying out. Upon further inspection she realized it was just one of the motion sensor cameras.

She listened intently until she couldn't hear the sound of the talking or their footsteps anymore. Once again, she peered over the top of the dumpster, when she felt that it was safe, she jumped out, landing lightly on the concrete. She slipped around the corner and onto the sidewalk, next to the empty, cracked, dejected street.

Virginia knew it was dangerous, to walk in the open like this, but she didn't have much of a choice. She needed to either find an ally, or just mill around until somebody came her way, begging to be killed.

She ignored the grumbling her stomach made. She was hungry. Very hungry, and it probably hadn't been wise to not go into The Cornucopia to look for some supplies, but she hadn't wanted to die in the bloodbath.

She let her bare feet press against the cool pavement, just starting to warm because the sun was shining on it. It was an interesting feeling.

"Look, over there!" A shout sounded.

Virginia froze, her heart leaping in her throat. She turned to see the careers running after her, Lynette in front. Slater was in the back, looking unsure.

Something silver flickered past her, slicing her in the side.

Virginia cried out, bent. She had a fairly deep cut; it was going to bleed a lot. She wasn't going to die, though.

"Guys, don't worry about her!" She heard Slater yell.

What was he doing? Didn't he want to win the games?

Her thoughts quickly shifted to the passionate kiss they had shared between them the night before they entered the arena. He was doing it for _her_.

Another knife sailed into her side, almost in the same place. This one stuck.

She groaned and fell to her knees, looking up at him with loss.

"Seriously, stop it!" He demanded, his voice colored with fury. He reached hand out and yanked Lindsey to a stop. "We need to attack the people with allies _first_. Then, we can worry about the others."

"What fun is that?" Lindsey demanded, her eyes flashing, but she was giggling sadistically. "We have her on her knees; we should just kill her now!"

Slater's voice was deadly calm. Deadly quiet. It scared Virginia. "I said _leave_ her. _Now_."

Lindsey clenched her jaw. "Fine. Don't think about taking my knives, Eight. I'll be back for them later!"

The four of them turned and sprinted out of sight.

Virginia winced and shrieked in pain as she pulled the knife out of her side, letting it clatter to the pavement, stained crimson. Her side was bleeding a lot. Shakily, she rose to her feet, determining that nothing vital had been hit.

The blood was running in thick rivulets down her side, soaking her shirt and her pants, dripping on the pavement. Hopefully, she could staunch the bleeding before she bled to death.

_**District 11, Coy Farley**_

Coy stuffed his hands in his pockets, put his head down and kept walking. He needed to find food, and water.

Back home he knew that he could tap into trees for their sap and drink that, or climb some of the trees and pick their fruit, but here there weren't any trees. There were just miles and miles of buildings, concrete, and emptiness.

He sighed and kicked a chunk of brick; maybe he could get inside one of the buildings and find food or water inside. Maybe an old vending machine? Or maybe some leaky pipes?

As quietly as he could, Coy slipped over to a building. He grabbed the door handle and yanked as hard as he could, almost falling on his butt when the door opened with ease. He quickly regained his composure and stepped inside.

It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust, but soon he was quickly walking across the litter strewn floor, kicking up dust and papers as he went. It looked like it had been used for a lobby of some sort, it was a wide open room with a dejected desk against the one wall, stairs to the left and right, a lot of glass windows—some of them broken, and a smell that said nobody had been in there in years.

He moved to the desk, rifling through all of the drawers. Past the expiration date or not, he would eat whatever he found in there. But, the only thing he had at the end of his search were hands covered with black grime.

He frowned, wiping his hands on his pants and moved to the stairs. He clambered up them, almost certain that the building was empty. There were hundreds upon thousands of them in this arena.

He paused momentarily at a window; he looked through the glass, three stories below him, to see Sawyer Coleman dragging an armful of bricks and rubble as he passed below him. Then, something slammed into him from behind.

Coy had almost tumbled down the stairs, but regained his balance.

"Coy, oh my god!"

"Bandit Lee?"

The blonde stepped back, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear with a grimy finger. "I was so scared; I thought you were somebody else. I was going to push you down the stairs!" She sounded terrified, like she was on the verge of tears.

"No." He said, wrapping his arms around her in a hug. "It's just me, don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you, I don't even have any weapons."

She nodded, letting go of him.

Coy's green eyes landed on the black backpack she had over her shoulders. "You don't happen to have any food in there, do you?"

"I do." Bandit sat down on one of the steps so they could look out the window, pulling the pack from behind her. "Here, have some of these protein bars. There's a whole slew of them in here."

He took them. "Thanks." They tasted like cardboard, but he was so hungry he didn't care. "It's crazy."

"What?"  
"There are hundreds of these building in this arena, and we chose the same one."

"There are hundreds," Bandit agreed slowly. "But, you can only get into so many of them. Most of them the doors won't open. They weren't created to open, they're welded shut."

"I didn't know that."

She nodded. "Neither did I. I spent half the night wrenching on doors that weren't going to ever open."

"I slept on a fire escape."

She laughed. "I didn't think about that."

They sat in silence, finally he said, "Are we allies, now?"

She smiled at him a little shyly. "Sure."


	34. Chapter 34: Day Three

_**District 12, Ryan Mellark**_

"It would be different if I had some sort of a color palate to work with here." Ryan explained to Alex, "but, it's just like…_gray_."

"It's not _like _gray. It _is_ gray." Alex said, pushing his glasses father up his nose. "They had been wandering around for hours now. The sun had gotten so brutally hot on the concrete that the pair of them had shucked their jackets and tied them around their waists. Alex, with his super fair skin, was starting to turn an amusing shade of pink.

He looked down at his arms and sighed, "I'm going to get sun poisoning."

"I'm just glad that you found water." Ryan said shaking his water bottle. In this heat it was easy to drink a lot of water; he just had to be careful not to drink all of it.

"The water was there, it just needed to be filtered to a semi-drinkable state."

"It's warmer than—" He was about to finish his sentence when Alex pressed a small hand to his chest.

"Look, there's one of those cameras." He pointed with the other to a camera that had silently rolled down the street towards them. "Sawyer Coleman invented them."

"He's pretty smart. Well, not as smart as you. I've never met anybody smarter than you in my entire life, and I don't think I ever will."

Alex nodded and they continued to walk down the street.

"I just wish there was a breeze." Ryan said.

"Be careful what you wish for. The next thing you know the Gamemakers are going to have a tornado in here, killing us all."

Ryan pressed his lips together, Alex was right. The Gamemakers were twisted that way.

Something plopped to the ground at his feet. Ryan picked it up, turning it over in his hand curiously. The note said, "I believe in you—Dad".

"What do you think it is?" He asked Alex.

"Somebody sponsored you."

"Yeah, it was my dad." He passed the silver can to Alex, who unscrewed the lid, gently testing the white cream inside. "What is it?"

"It's sunscreen."

"Thank you dad!" He crowed. He struck his fingers in the jar, smearing the sunscreen all over his exposed arms, neck and face. "How hot do you think it is?" He asked, passing the jar to Alex, who began to smear the white cream all over his reddening skin.

"I'm not sure," the blonde replied. "It has to be near one hundred degrees, though. I know that blood in the human body starts to boil in one hundred and thirty degree temperatures if the skin is exposed. Thank god it isn't that hot."

"Thank god." Ryan agreed.

_**District 1, Lynette Winters**_

"I wish I had a swim suit." She whined, looking at the sun from their shady hideout next to a building. "Today would be a perfect day to go tanning."

"Are you nuts?" Lindsey demanded, looking at Lynette through wide eyes.

"No!" Lynette scoffed. She crossed her arms and stood at the edge of the shade, looking up and down the street, seeing nobody.

"You know," Slater said, his arms crossed as he stared at her through his sunglasses. "You could always go lay in your bra and underwear. It's practically the same thing."

"You would like that wouldn't you?" Coralie muttered, opening her mouth again for one for the first few times since the games started.

"I wouldn't mind." He waggled his eyebrows at Lynette.

He had a point, she was skinny enough and pretty enough it wouldn't make people want to gouge their eyes out. It would probably be a lot cooler without all of those clothes on. "You're right!" She reached down to the hem of her shirt.

"No! _No!_" Lindsey shouted, standing to her feet. "Everybody, keep your clothes on! God, it's like I'm surrounded by three year olds!"

"Yeah," Slater muttered, "and you're the bitchy-ass nanny."

She growled at him but didn't lunge at him.

Lynette fingered her too-warm sweatpants lightly. "Slater, give me your knife."

"Why?"

"Just do it!" She held her hand out impatiently. When he dropped the ginormous knife in her palm she sat on the blacktop and started cutting her pants up by her thigh.

"What are you doing" Lindsey demanded.

"Making shorts." She carefully cut through the waterproof fabric, trying to ignore how irritating it was that Lindsey was bossing her around and talking to her like a three year old. She gritted her teeth and ripped the fabric, slipped it off her leg and cast it onto the concrete. "One down, one to go." After she finished the other leg she rose to her feet. "That feels so much better!"

"It's going to get cold tonight and you're going to wish you had kept your pants." Slater drawled.

She shrugged, she didn't really care. She was actually hoping that either Lindsey or Coralie would kill him sooner or later; he was annoying, sexist, and rude.

"We're going to have to wait until sundown to get out of here." Slater muttered.

Lynette groaned and lay on the warm pavement. It was going to be a long day.

_**District 3, Sawyer Coleman**_

Sawyer had to make sure that everything was balanced just perfectly. Just one miscalculation and the trap would fail. His pants were still damp from when he had spent time in the hole in the basement floor of the building; he had proceeded to figure out what valves had turned the thick flow of water on, and which ones had directed it other places. After he had figured that out he made sure that the other pipe entrances were sealed shut.

Sawyer had created a trap door in the floor and covered it with litter and debris, when something stepped on it, the door swung open dropping the unsuspecting tribute fifteen feet into about three feet of water, then the water would start pouring in. Hopefully, the tribute didn't know how to swim. Even if they did, the flow of water would stop six feet from the top of the gap, leaving the tribute to tread water until they exhausted themselves and drowned.

It had taken him all of the previous night to figure out how to make it work, he had started working the second the sun peeped over the horizon, now he was almost finished. He gently set the last piece of cinder block on the scale, which would be what pulled the lever to start the water intake when the trap was triggered.

Finished, Sawyer pulled the trap doors shut and gently placed crumpled newspapers and other garbage on it, being very careful where he placed his feet.

He sat on the trash-ridden floor, wiped a hand across his grimy forehead, and then opened up a bottle of water. He had went in during the bloodbath and retrieved a pack and some other things he needed to survive in the games, like rope, clips, wire, and rubber bands.

He was exhausted. He had only slept for a short amount of time the previous night. Somehow, he had woken in the dead of sleep with an idea for his trap. He quickly took to making it a reality. He was lucky enough to have some food for a few days, but sooner or later he was going to have to find some more to eat.

Sawyer leaned his blonde head back against the soot-smeared white wall. His green eyes drifted to the ceiling, where he didn't see anything interesting except a few cobwebs. Then, the little light bulb turned on his head. He rose to his feet once more, grabbing the spool of white nylon rope he had acquired in The Cornucopia.

He shouldered his pack and started to walk up the stairs, he had an idea. He just needed to make it work, then after it was in working condition he needed to make it better. He climbed to the very top of the building. He was looking for tar, it would be the perfect sticky substance.

Sawyer knew that the factory used tar for the top of the roof to seal cracks. Maybe there was a bucket of ancient tar lying around.

Once his search had proven fruitless he barred the door shut and sat down on the roof. "This looks like a good camping spot."


	35. Chapter 35: Day Three Part II

_**District 2, Slater O'Brien**_

Slater couldn't shake the image of Virginia out of his head. He hated the way her blue eyes stared at him in utter betrayal as she bled onto the pavement, how even she kept his gaze even when she pulled the knife out of her side and let it clatter to the concrete.

He had directed the others' attention elsewhere, giving her time to get away. He hadn't wanted to let her slip from his sight, though. He wanted nothing more than to run to her at that exact moment, wrap her in his arms, and tell her she was going to be okay.

Sure, it would have been easy enough for Slater to break from the pack and do it. They all would have been too shocked to function. But, they were all loyal to each other as Careers…at least until they had to die. He needed them; well he needed Lindsey for the most part. He felt that the only thing Lynette was capable of doing correctly was converting oxygen into carbon dioxide.

Coralie bothered him. He was thankful for his polarized sunglasses because he could steal glances at the blonde tribute from Four without her being able to see where he was looking. He knew that she had been staring at him, probably thinking of colorful ways to kill him. He saw her the night she was on watch thumbing her knife and staring at him hungrily. It was nerve-wracking.

"We need to sleep sometime." He said tiredly. He felt like they had been walking for hours. Wait…scratch that, they _had_ been walking for hours.

The sun had sunk below the surface of the city probably almost an hour ago, cloaking the arena in an eerie darkness.

"We will." Lindsey told him. "I want to kill a tribute first. I bet the people watching us are getting a little anxious."

"Or bored." Lynette added. "I know I've been bored."

"We could make things a lot less boring and easier if we just killed you."

Lynette narrowed her blue eyes at Lindsey. "I killed that Cyril kid without thinking twice about it."

"I killed Oakleigh."

Lynette paused; she was remembering the cruel glint in Lindsey's eyes when she slit the tribute from District Eight's throat. Slater knew that's what she was doing, because he was remembering the same exact thing.

"I saw something!" Coralie exclaimed. She pointed to an alley on their left. "Over there!" The blonde took off running, her curls bouncing with every step.

"Let's go!" Lindsey shouted, knives already clenched in her fists.

Slater unsheathed the sword on his back and followed after them. He was hoping that whomever Coralie had spotted wasn't Virginia.

They turned the corner and saw a tall, lanky figure running next to a shorter, curvier one.

For a moment Slater thought the tall one was Jacob Brahmani, but when he turned his head he saw the sharp, angular nose and messy hair of Coy Farley.

"Behind us!" Coy yelled.

The smaller—and obvious woman-shaped—figure glanced behind long enough to cuss before putting her head down and pumping her arms. "We have to shake 'em!" Slater recognized the mild drawl enough to know that the voice belonged to Bandit Lee.

The four careers were closing in on them, Slater was now close enough to see that Coy was carrying a backpack. He was also close enough to see a knife stick into his chest.

Bandit ducked around a corner and vanished from sight.

Slater watched as Coralie kicked the tribute over. She yanked the knife out of his chest and straddled his naval. He couldn't tear his eyes away as she took the knife up and down his face, giggling like a little girl who had gotten her favorite toy on her birthday. He was going to puke.

"She went that way." He murmured to Lindsey. "I'm going to see if I can find her."

She nodded, her jade eyes never leaving Coralie and Coy.

As Slater ducked around the corner he heard Coy's screams. He prayed that they would stop. He was out of earshot before he was sure if they did or not.

_**District 5, Jacob Brahmani**_

"_Mom?" Jacob asked shutting the front door behind him. His scanned the foyer for one of the Avoxes, but they were nowhere to be found. "Dad?" He called glancing in the sitting room, where his dad usually sat with the newspaper and a glass of brandy. He wasn't there. _

_"This is creepy." He muttered before jogging up the stairs. When Hahn's massive German Shepard Husky mix didn't come greet him in the hall the sense of eeriness overwhelmed him. He pushed open his brother's door. "Hahn?" _

_The window was open, letting in a slew of rainwater, which was running down the windowsill and onto the polished wood floor. "Jeez, kid!" Jacob exclaimed. He hurried over and shut the window. He'd have Micah or Matilda clean it up later. _

_"Where is everybody?" He asked himself as he strode out of Hahn's room. He turned to change out of his sweaty jogging clothes and ran straight into Hayley. "Hayley, oh my god!" He gently grasped her dirty, grimy arms. She was bruised, cut, dirty, and battered. "What happened to you?" He wasn't sure if he wanted to puke or punch somebody's lights out. _

_Tears leaked out of her beautiful green eyes. "Jacob," her voice was thick, "I need you to come home to me." She sobbed. "It's horrible, they—they won't leave me alone. They're hurting me—all of the time. I—I—"_

_"Who?" _

_"They said you aren't going to win. When you die they're going to do things to me. I'm scared." _

_Thunder rumbled outside. _

_"Who Hales, __**who**__?!" He resisted the urge to shake her. _

_"I can't!" She exclaimed, her auburn head swiveled, looking for an exit. "They're here. I have to go!" She turned and disappeared down the hall. _

_"Hayley, wait!" He called, running after her. Fury pulsing in his veins Jacob yanked the door open, coming face to face with Hahn. "Hahn! There you are!" He wrapped his brother in a hug, but he was unresponsive. _

_"Why did you volunteer for me?" He demanded. His voice was dark, the water dripped off his overly long blonde hair, past his unseeing eyes, his charcoal suit was drenched, his face and skin pale. "You were my brother!" _

_"Hahn, I'm still your brother. I love you, that's why I did it!" _

_Hahn blinked his unseeing blue-grey eyes. "Really? You love me?" He smiled broadly for the first time in a long time. _

_"Of course. You're my brother." _

_"I have to show you something, Jacob." Hahn said turning and jogging of the porch, toward a group of three dark figures. _

_Jacob frowned, he didn't understand what his brother was going "show" him. He was blind for crying out loud. He took two steps of the porch then saw Hahn walk toward the dark figures. "Hahn stop!" _

_It was too late. The middle figure held a sword, and it had impaled Hahn in the gut, right up to the hilt. _

_Jacob's brown eyes widened, but then Hayley's screams pierced the air._

Jacob sat up, gasping. He ran a hand through his hair, which was sweaty despite the chill. In the distance he heard one of the other tributes—a guy from the sounds of it—screaming.

_**District 10, Bandit Lee Highland**_

Bandit thought her lungs were going to burst, she thought her legs were going to fall off, but she kept running anyway. She knew that Slater was supposed to follow her. She knew Coy was dead and she wanted nothing more than to stop and cry. He had been a great friend to her, a good ally. Now he was gone.

She spied a door, she ran over and grabbed the handle. "Please god, let it open." She panted. Yanking hard, the door came open and a miniscule sense of relief washed over her.

Bandit took the stairs that led downward, she didn't stop after the first two flights broke off into the hallway. She went until she was on a concrete floor.

Her dark blue eyes scanned the surrounding area, with the help of her flashlight. Part of her was glad she wasn't afraid of the dark, or she would have been in deep crap. "Stay calm." She breathed. She could hear her dad's voice telling her that panicking wouldn't solve any of her problems. It would cause more of them instead.

She walked slowly across the litter-strewn floor, it looked like there had been a tribute there earlier in the day. Whoever it was hadn't stuck around, though. She kicked away an empty water bottle and a box for freeze-dried meal.

Bandit paused when she realized that she didn't have her pack anymore. Coy had it with him…well, he _did_. The Careers probably took it.

In anger she kicked the box harder. It sailed across the room and disappeared.

She decided that if she was going to sleep in this dark basement it better be in a corner in case whoever was there before her decided to come back. She was walking across the floor, making her way to the far right-hand corner when the floor gave out.

The sound of screeching and twisting metal sounded in her ears and she found herself falling. Bandit heard herself screaming, but then her fall was broken by the splash of water, but it didn't do much. She landed on her butt, and it hurt really bad.

Bandit rose to her feet, gasping for air. She was about to try and figure out what she had fallen into when water started to surge all around her in a torrent. It was dark, nearly impossible for her to see, but somehow her flashlight had managed to stay on and survive the fall, it illuminated the water.

She started to hyperventilate. The water was strong, it was taking all of her will to stay on her feet. It had been up to her navel before, but now it was up to her chest, it was fighting against, trying to pull her this way and that.

"Help!" She screamed. "I can't swim!"

The water was to her chin in mere minutes.

She tried her best to keep her chin above the water, it was so cold! She couldn't feel her legs anymore! Soon, it was rising above her head. Bandit frantically tried to tread water, but she kept bobbing up and down.

The current pulled her under, fought with her body, twisting her, painfully pulling her.

_I can end this._ She thought, _I can just take a deep breath and end myself. Right here. Right now._ But her thoughts flicked to her mom, standing with her hand on her hip, telling her "Bandit Lee, if you want something bad enough you have to fight for it!". She saw her dad, giving her his stern, yet friendly smile. "Stay calm,". She saw Louis and Flynt fooling around in the barn, heeling each other's feet, tripping each other. "I'll do what I can from this end." Flynt told her. Lastly, she saw Dale. Her little sister was giving her an icy glare. "You're a bigger fool than I thought if you just quit." She spat.

They were right.

Bandit kicked her legs as hard as she could, her arms clawing for something—anything—to hold onto. She breached the surface, taking in a large mouthful of air, and she struggled for a few moments, but the torrent of water stopped.

Blindly, Bandit searched for a handhold. She found one. It was barely the size of a penny, and no deeper than the width of her thumbnail, but she hung on, her head hardly above water. When the morning light came shining through those grimy windows she decided that she was going to find a way out of that hell hole.

* * *

**R.I.P Coy Farley**

**Please review and let me know what you think! Just remember (for those of you who are new) the tributes' POV's and Deaths are drawn at random!**


	36. Chapter 36: Hunger Games Day Four

_**District 4, Coralie Alderly**_

Coralie watched the other Careers carefully, Slater hadn't come back. She had been hoping that he had died, but there had only been on cannon shot after she murdered Coy Farley.

She grinned to herself; she kept picturing his wide green eyes in her head. How he struggled, begged for her to stop, how he screamed for his life. She didn't know why she had begun to mutilate his face, but she knew that she liked it. She like the way he had thrashed underneath her.

Coralie went to sharpening her knives on the flint stone, she wanted them to sharp the next time she drove them into somebody. Her blue-green eyes flicked to Lynette who was sitting against a wall, an expression of indifference on her face. Maybe she'd be next.

"Ugh!" Lindsey shouted, kicking a charred brick out of her way. "Where is he? He's been gone for hours."

"Is head dead?" Lynette asked, she seemed bored.

"No!" Lindsey shouted, like she refused to believe it.

Coralie paused, looking at the redhead. She knew that no matter how much Lindsey pretended to hate Slater she still liked him. "There wasn't a cannon." Coralie said quietly. When both of them looked at her she went on to say, "There was a cannon when I killed Coy. There always is a cannon. He might just be hurt…or lost."

"I thought you didn't like him." Lindsey accused, her voice dripping venom.

"I don't."

"What's your deal?" Lynette asked, rising to her feet, stretching her long tan legs. "You don't like anybody. Don't you have any friends?"

Coralie thought of Cale, his blue eyes, his seemingly unnatural black hair, his long, lanky frame. "I have a friend."

"Really? Who?"

Coralie hated the skeptical tone in the District One tribute's voice. She hated her doubtful stare, and her cocky stance. "His name is Cale." Coralie said quietly. She rose to her feet.

"_His _name? Was Cale your boyfriend?"

Coralie felt her face morph into its emotionless mask, a mask she had forgotten to ware during the conversation. "No. He's just a friend."

"Why are you saying it like that? There's no shame in having a boyfriend."

"I don't have a boyfriend because love does nothing but get in the way. It screws things up, makes your thoughts fuzzy and emotional." Coralie held her arm back and let a knife fly. It stabbed Lynette in her left shoulder. "Without love you can think straight."

Lynette pulled the knife out of her arm and looked at it. Her blue eyes moved to the blood dripping onto the concrete, leaving a crimson stain. She looked at Coralie, "The next chance I get, bitch, you're dead." Then, she casually tossed the knife to the ground and moved to bandage her wound.

Lindsey strode of to Coralie, the knife in hand.

Coralie tensed, waiting for her to throw it, but she never did. When Lindsey offered it to her Coralie tentatively took it.

"If you wouldn't have done it, I probably would have." Lindsey muttered. "That girl is driving me insane. I say, the next chance we get we kill her."

Coralie nodded in agreement.

_**District 12, Ryan Mellark**_

"Do you think this is going to work?" Ryan whispered to Alex.

"I'm counting on it." The blonde whispered back.

The pair was squatted in a fourth story window, listening in on the Career's conversation. The three girls were directly underneath them, arguing, talking, and arguing some more. It was another hot day, although not nearly as hot as the previous one, so sitting immobile in the building wasn't unbearable.

"Do you think all three of them are stupid enough to go for it?"

"I hope so."

Ryan and Alex had come up with a plan to chase the careers out of their base camp in the alley, then sneak down and steal as much gear and as many weapons as they could. He was hoping—for both their sakes—that it worked. The pair had been starving for the past few days, with the exception of a giant rat Alex had managed to snare in a trap, which Ryan killed and cooked.

"Try it, man." Ryan encouraged, gently shoving Alex.

"Ouch!" The smaller tribute hissed. "Sunburn, remember?"

"Sorry."

Alex loaded the homemade catapult with a broken chunk of the building, he pushed it down, aimed, then released it.

Ryan placed his hand over his eyes to prevent the sun from blocking his view. The rock sailed through the air, then bounced on the metal fire escape kitty-corner from the alley.

"Did you hear that?" Lindsey asked.

"Yeah." Lynette sniffed, she had just finished tying a bandage around her arm.

"Do you think it was another tribute?"

Ryan chuckled quietly, then loaded a hunk of brick onto the catapult. "Ready…aim…_fire_!" He whisper-yelled.

Alex released the catapult, sending the brick across the street once again, only this time it nailed the dumpster next to the fire escape.

"Let's go!" The three tributes took off down the street.

"Ryan, move!" Alex shouted.

Ryan took off down the empty hall, clattered down the stairs—nearly tripping himself over a moldy book—and then burst out the emergency exit, which took him straight to the alley where the careers had set up camp.

He looked right, then left and stepped into the open, scrambling to grab as much gear as he possibly could. He picked up knives, a bow and a set of arrows, two backpacks loaded with gear. He sprung to his feet and was headed back to the door when somebody yelled.

He looked back to see Lynette running at him.

Ryan swore colorfully before clumsily pulling back an arrow on his bowstring and letting it fly.

Lynette dropped to the ground, covering her head.

Ryan took advantage of that and slipped into the building, making sure the door didn't slam shut on his way in.

_**District 2, Slater O'Brien**_

Slater was worried; the blood trail had stopped about fifteen minutes ago. He was just wandering in the general direction he thought Virginia went. That worried him, because two things couldn't have happened. Either Virginia had staunched the heavy flow of blood, or she had run out of blood period. He hoped that it was the first one.

His hetero eyes scanned the surrounding buildings; he noticed that about two stories up a window was open. Slater grabbed the rungs of fire escape and began to climb. He climbed until he reached the open window. He pushed his sunglasses into his messy red hair so he could see in the dark building.

"Virginia?" He called out, shining his flashlight in the dejected room. "Virginia, are you in here?"

When there was no answer Slater sighed. He didn't climb into dark and ominous places unless he absolutely had to. He ducked down and stepped through the window, into the musty room.

"Virginia? Are you in—_ack_!" Slater saw stars as something solid made contact with his head. He staggered on his feet, blinking to try and get rid of the daze. He tried to blink away the dark splotches in his vision, but in his right eye everything was black. "Shit." He cussed.

To his left he spied movement, the wooden plank was coming toward his head again. Virginia looked angry and determined behind it.

Deftly, he reached out and clasped the wood in his hand, ignoring the stinging the impact inflicted on his hand. He took the wood and snapped it over his knee, throwing both pieces out of the window. "What are you doing?" He asked. His voice sounded dark and dangerous, even to his own ears.

"Why did you let them hurt me?" She demanded.

He turned his head so he could see her out his only good eye. "What are you talking about?! I led them _away_ from you!"

"Not before they stabbed me!"

Slater sat on the moldy carpet. "If it means anything I came to see if you were okay. They're going to get mad when I get back, but I'll tell them I got lost."

"You came to see if I was _okay_?!" She demanded glaring at him with her blue eyes. She lifted up her t-shirt revealing a bloody bandage. "I almost _bled to death_!"

"Does it matter? I'm here now."

"I'm surprised I didn't knock you out."

"Well, if it counts for anything you blinded my right side." He said bitterly. "Don't worry, it'll come back eventually."

"How does that work?" Virginia asked, sitting across from him. "Did I hit you in the eye?"

Slater shook his head. "If it get hit in the head it'll go blind…temporarily, of course. It's a side-effect from…"

"From what?" Virginia was sitting forward, intrigued.

"It's a long story."

"I have time."

"That's probably a good thing." Slater admitted, rubbing his blind eye. "When I was eight, my mom remarried. My dad died in a factory fire." He shrugged. "It wouldn't have been such a big deal, but

John was two-faced. In front of my mom he was Prince Charming, but when she was working third shift at the hospital he turned into Satan himself." Slater swallowed. It was the first time he'd told the story to anybody but Lindsey. It had been years since he told it. It wasn't any easier.

"For some reason John didn't like me. I think it was because I wasn't his son, he and my mom had brought two gingery twerps of their own into the world. Anyway, after my mom would leave for her third-shift job at the hospital he'd start hitting the bottle. Once he finished off a bottle by himself he'd start to get a little angry. He'd tell me to do things, he'd boss me around. I didn't like it. I'd always fight with him." Slater laughed bitterly. "I realize now if I'd have been smart I would have just taken the beatings."

"Why would you say something like that?" Virginia asked. "Nobody deserves that."

"One night John wasn't particularly happy. It was the worst I'd ever seen him." He laughed again, then continued. His voice was full of loathing. "We got into a fight over the bathroom. I had been brushing my teeth, getting ready for bed and he wanted the bathroom. Things escalated. I broke John's nose, I was only twelve at the time. Then, he punched me in the eye. His gigantic ring caught it, damaged it. It knocked me out. I woke up in the hospital twelve hours later, my head wrapped up, blind because they covered both of my eyes." He took in a shuddering breath. "They told me there was chance I would never see out of it again, that even if I did my vision would be spotty at best."

"You really came back for me?" Virginia asked, moving closer to him.

Slater nodded, his head throbbing.

"I'm sorry I hurt you." She whispered.

"I'm sorry you got hurt because of me." Slater admitted.

"Let me fix it." She whispered, before pressing her mouth against his.


	37. Chapter 37: Hunger Games Day Five

_**District 3, Sawyer Coleman**_

The bright sunlight woke Sawyer up out of his light sleep. He stoked his fire and set a pot of water on to boil. "Let's go see if we caught anybody, just for shits and giggles." He said as he opened the steel door, making sure a brick was in place to keep it open.

He had a few nightmares the previous night. One of them was of his dad when he got shot. Sawyer hadn't been there personally, but his sick mind had concocted up a way to make seem as if he was. Every once in a while he had the nightmares, feeling the deep sense of loss like it were new.

He crossed the floor into the basement; at first everything seemed normal, until he heard the sound of dripping water. With his curiosity peaked, he went to the trap door and found that it was open. He squatted next to the opening and looked down.

Bandit Lee looked almost unrecognizable with her golden hair plastered down, her skin pale—almost blue, her eyes almost completely closed.

Sawyer remembered hearing a cannon in the night, maybe it was her? He shook his head; they would have come to recover the body by now. That meant she was still alive. He reached down, grabbed the sopping wet tribute by the back of her coat and hauled her out of the hole.

Her body was freezing cold! The water that got on his skin was like ice. Sawyer laid the blonde on her back and listened to her breathing. It was shallow, but she was still alive. She hadn't drowned, if she had any water in her lungs it wasn't much.

He scooped her up; she made a soft sound, but was instantly quiet again, her head lolling lifelessly in his arms. He carried her back to the rooftop to take care of her.

"It's about time you woke up." He said, not turning to look at the tribute from District Ten. He stirred his instant coffee, then rose to his feet.

Bandit Lee sat up in the sleeping bag, her blue eyes scanning her clothes.

When Sawyer had brought her back to the rooftop, he stripped her of her wet and freezing garments and had put her in some of his clothes. They were ridiculously big on her, but they were warm and dry. He set her clothes on the edge of the building for the sun to dry off.

Her blue eyes flashed to him, "You _stripped_ me?!"

"It was either that, or you'd freeze to death."

She stumbled out of the sleeping bag, tripping over the overly long legs of his sweatpants. "I can't believe you saw me _naked_."

Sawyer slammed down the tin cup. "Listen!" He was getting frustrated. "I saved your life!"

She gritted her teeth, glaring up at him the way he imagined she'd glare at an unruly horse. With no fear, anger, and grim determination. "Why don't you kill me already!" She spat venomously.

"Because," his voice was quiet and dangerous. "If I wanted you dead I would have left you in that hole."

She took a step back incredulously. "Oh." Then, she sat down on the rooftop, next to the fire pit. She stared down at the grimy white t-shirt she could have worn as a dress as she fumbled with the hem. "Thanks, I guess." She mumbled.

"Don't mention it." He sat adjacent to her. "You know how to swim, I'll assume."

She shook her head, her long blonde hair had since dried out, but it was a mess. "I've never swam before in my life. Drowning is one of my biggest fears. I was so scared that they'd send us to an aquatic arena." She shuddered.

"It doesn't look like you're doing too badly."

"Neither do you." Bandit looked around at all of his supplies curiously. "How did you get all of this stuff?"

"I have a pretty large fan base back home. A lot of people from work sponsored me." He chuckled, he thought of Berta Cooper. She was probably the only person in the office who was hoping Bandit would lunge across the rooftop and rip his throat out. "A lot of the guys on the floor like me because I fought tooth and nail against their pay cuts last year."

"What's that?" Bandit asked, her blue eyes wide. She pointed with a shaking finger to one corner of the roof, where he'd stacked all of his supplies.

Sawyer turned, narrowing his green eyes. "Oh," he chuckled. "That's one of the cameras. Don't worry. They're harmless."

Bandit felt a sense of relief wash over her. She stared into the coals of the fire, maybe Sawyer Coleman, the notorious charmer and flirt from District Three, wasn't so bad after all. He did save her life, after all.

_**District 5, Jacob Brahmani**_

He was so thirsty. Jacob couldn't remember when the last time he'd had a drink of anything liquid. He was also _hungry._ He had eaten the last freeze-dried meal from his pack the previous day. He felt like he was going to throw up, which was weird, because he hadn't eaten since then.

He ran a hand through his short, dark hair. It came back sweaty. He shook his head, he needed to find something to drink. Soon.

His brown eyes scanned the street, squinting to see past the heat waves rising off the pavement. He looked at the sewer system. There could possibly be water down there…couldn't there?

Jacob knew that the water wouldn't be clean, maybe not even sanitary. He needed to worry about finding the water first, and then worry about sanitizing it. He knelt at the manhole cover, prying the edge of it up with his fingers, hissing through his teeth when the hot metal burned his skin. Eventually, he manipulated the hot iron to the side and climbed into the dank sewer.

It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. He took a few moments to blink the spots out of his eyes. When they finally adjusted, Jacob was a little disappointed to find that there wasn't much water running through the sewer, just a few inches of sludge sitting in the bottom.

"That's okay, though." He said to himself as he shouldered the pack containing a few remnants of what he had taken in the cornucopia. "There's water under this city somewhere, I just have to find it."

He knew that it was important to remain optimistic, but also to know that the chances of him surviving were next to zero.

He began to walk, his brown eyes scanning the sludge-flecked walls as he did. He was hoping that somewhere down in the sewer was a cracked pipe that would leak a little bit of water.

Jacob froze, swearing that he heard something behind him. Had another tribute followed him down into the sewer just to kill him? He looked around, seeing nothing out of the ordinary, then shrugged, and moved on. He made extra sure to grip the shaft of his spear so he could stab somebody, need be.

He heard the sound again; it was like somebody was scratching at the cement. He looked around, seeing nothing.  
He was starting to feel queasy, now. It seemed like he was being watched by an invisible opponent. He didn't like that at all.

Jacob picked up the pace, not quite running yet. He headed for a circle of light ahead, where he was guessing a drain laid in the street to let water drip down into the sewers. He paused underneath it, his spear clutched so tightly in his fist that his knuckles turned white.

Something came into view, and he resisted the urge to puke.

It was a giant rat; the size of a German Shepard, its scaly trail drug in the sewer sludge behind it. Its beady yellow eyes stared at Jacob. Its whiskers were the length of his forearm and it stepped toward him, the nails of its pink paws dragging against the pavement.

"Oh shit." He breathed before turning and sprinting away from it as fast as possible. He ducked his black head and ran faster when he heard its nails scraping behind him as it chased him. Jacob slipped on some sewer sludge, his left leg skidding off to the side. He heard a popping sound as he fell to the floor.

He was shaking when he sat up; his long fingers went to his knee. He swallowed the bile that arose in his throat when he found his knee cap half-under his leg. It was dislocated. He scrambled backwards, away from the encroaching rodent. He picked up his spear and heaved it. It scattered harmlessly to its pink paws.

It squeaked, but it sounded much more menacing than a normal rat. Then, behind it another one, just as big appeared. Its yellow eyes fixed on him.

He tried to scramble away, but the rats were on him, tearing into his flesh.

_**District 1, Lynette Winters**_

"Did you guys hear that?" She asked, fiddling with the end of her ponytail.

"Hear what?" Lindsey asked. The redhead was still furious for letting Ryan Mellark get away.

"I thought it was screaming."

As if to verify her point a cannon sounded out.

"I hope it was Ryan." She said.

"It sounded like a man." Lynette said as she set one of the remaining packs of supplies down. Ryan had taken just about everything aside from a pack with weapons in it, a pack containing a tent, and a handful of energy bars.

She felt stupid, letting him get away like that. She had seen that he had an arrow pointed at her face, so she dropped to the ground, making sure to cover her head. When she stood up to chase him he had vanished. Now they were all going to suffer for it.

Lynette rose when she heard the sound of feet scuffing the sidewalk around the corner of the building. She clenched her hands into fists, if it was Ryan she wasn't going to let him get away this time. She was about to spring around the corner when she saw a streak of red hair.

"Guys, I'm back." Slater said, his face impassive behind his sunglasses. "Oh, and I brought somebody, too."

"What?" Lindsey demanded, her voice dark.

Slater gently guided a figure around the corner.

Virginia winced as she took a few steps that were a little too quick. Her side was bandaged tightly, but it looked like the wrappings needed changed. They were oozing blood.

"Slater," Lindsey said, fingering one of her silver knives lightly. "Get her out of here before I kill her."

"No." He said mulishly.

Lynette's temper flared. Ryan Mellark had just stolen their food and Slater thought he could bring this girl in here so they had more mouths to feed? She didn't think so. With a look of synthetic concern on her face, Lynette gently guided Virginia away from Slater.

"I'm okay, really." The brunette said, looking at Slater for help.

"No, you need help. I bet it hurts."

"It does."

Quickly, Lynette punched a spot in Virginia's lower back. When the brunette fell to the ground Lynette went lightly to her knees. "Not anymore. Considering you're paralyzed from the waist down."

A squeal of pain came from the girl from District Eight.

Lynette pressed her thumb in another spot, and then Virginia planted face first onto the sidewalk. "And now you're dead." A cannon boomed out and she rose to her feet.

Before she could rise fully on her own a rough hand wrenched her around. Slater held her by the throat. "What did you do?!" He shouted, shaking her. His voice colored with fury. "_What did you do_?!"

* * *

**R.I.P **

**Jacob Brahmani**

**and**

**Virginia Hawthorne**

**Read and Review!**

**Who do you think is going to win the Hunger Games?**


	38. Chapter 38: Hunger Games Day Six

_**District Ten, Bandit Lee Highland**_

"You think it's a good idea?" Bandit asked Sawyer as she carried one the packs full of supplies, while he carried the other. "Picking up and moving base camp like that, I mean."

"I don't see how it could hurt us." Sawyer said, not looking at her. He was staring straight ahead, his green eyes carefully taking in their surroundings. "The only thing that could be problem is giving up the high ground. Back in the day taking a hill during a battle was considered an advantage, because you could rain hell-fire down on your enemies."

Bandit walked up a mountain of rubble, the charred, dusty smell stinging her nose. Okay, it wasn't exactly a _mountain_, it was more of a mound, and from this height she was finally taller than the massive District Three tribute. "Look at that, I'm finally taller than you." She grinned in self-satisfaction. Sawyer made her feel small and meek. It wasn't something she was used to feeling, not even when she was working with the two thousand pound horses.

He turned to her, grinning slightly. He gently reached up and grabbed her waist, lifted her off the mound of rubble and back onto the pavement.

"What was that for?" She demanded, ignoring the butterflies in her stomach. Why were they suddenly making an appearance?

"We have to keep moving." He said.

Bandit noticed the way had had dodged the question. Sure, he had given an answer, but it was somewhat vague. She didn't call him out on it, though. "What if we run into the Careers?" She asked him.

"Run like hell?" He suggested. "You are one of the faster tributes, aside from Cyril and Jacob…wait, you _are_ the fastest tribute now."

"I _was_." She reminded. "Your little water trap messed up my knees."

He ran a hand through his sandy hair. "Uh, yeah. Remember, whoever fell in there wasn't supposed to come out alive."

"What makes me different?"

He ran his hand through his hair again, she figured it was a sign of embarrassment. "I don't know—honestly—I feel different about you than I've felt about anybody I've ever met before. You…interest me."

"Why?" She didn't understand.

"The first day I ever talked to you—do you remember?"

Despite herself, Bandit found herself grinning. "You hit on me and then I slapped you."

"Yeah, that day. I had never had a reaction like that from a girl before. I was used to flirting my way through everything back in District Three. I could charm my way through any situation, inside and out. I could have anyone I wanted. For some reason it didn't work on you, the strong cowgirl from District Ten. I couldn't have you."

Bandit stared up at him in amazement. Her heart was thudding in her chest so hard it was painful. She chewed on her bottom lip for a second, unsure of what to say. Finally, she said, "I—I don't understand. Nobody in my district ever paid attention to me before, nobody has ever told me that they liked me _that_ way. I have never been told I was pretty, only that I'm a good ranch hand and horse trainer." She saw Sawyers look of unsettledness, but continued to ramble on anyway. "I think the reason nobody was interested in me is because I'm like one of the guys, or because I never spent much time off the ranch, I didn't ever get compliments—"

With quick, sure movements, he picked her up.

"What are you—"

Then his mouth was pressed against hers, hard at first, but then it was gentle. Bandit Lee stifled all of her fears about being a bad kisser, shoved away her doubts, and molded her lips against his.

_**District 6, Alex Flynn**_

"You did great." Alex told Ryan, as he looked up from stowing the majority of the stolen gear into as many packs as possible. "Lynette didn't see you come inside?" He asked again.

"No." Ryan said, shaking his brown head. "I shot an arrow at her, she was sprawled face-down on the pavement trying to shield herself. I slipped into the door and let it shut without it making a sound." He went back to staring out the window. "Uh oh," He said.

A cannon fired.

"What?" Alex whispered, moving over to peer out the window alongside his ally.

"Lynette just killed Virginia!"

"Really?"

"Yeah. Slater looks ticked!"

Alex knew that the two tributes had had feelings for each other. Slater looked devastated. Alex wasn't sure if the red-head was going to kill Lynette on the spot, or if he was going to burst into tears. It was hard to tell with his polarized sunglasses on. "They're distracted." He said grabbing a pack and shouldering it, a bow in his hand and a quiver of arrows on his back. "We should see if we can find a second exit."

As they slipped through the abandoned and reject hallways, Alex tried not to think about Jack. It was hard, because Jack was on his mind a lot of the time. What if Alex died? Would his love look as broken as Slater had?

Alex swallowed, he wasn't going to think about that.

"Are you okay?" Ryan asked him, his brown eyes worried. "You look like you're going to puke."

Ryan was right, he may vomit. "I'm fine." Alex lied through his teeth.

They walked down the vacant hallways for what seemed to be eternity.

"Did you see that?" Ryan asked, clutching at Alex's arm. His brown eyes were wide and fear-stricken.

Alex pushed his glasses up his nose. "No. What was it?"

"I don't know, man, but it was huge! It was about the size of my dog!"

Alex's heart pounded in his chest. Muttations? Already? It was a little early in the games for the mutts to come out and play, but then again, it was a different series of games than any other. The best of the best competing proved that.

Something that sounded like nails on a chalkboard, or glass sounded in his ears. It hurt. But, it wasn't until he heard it again that he realized what it was. "A rodent?" He whispered to Ryan, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"Rodent?"

"A rat most likely."

"The size of my dog?!"

Alex's mind started working at a mile a minute. How dangerous were rats to humans? Not very, if you didn't count the diseases they carried. What did rats eat? Whatever they could find. Bugs, garbage, smaller rodents, other rats. There were horror stories from the past where babies that were left alone would be eaten by hordes of large rats. "Oh no." Alex breathed.

"What?" Ryan hissed, his face pale.

"Rats are omnivores and scavengers."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Alex swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat with a little bit of difficulty. "There are old legends," He had to swallow again, "that babies would be found by their mothers, eaten by hordes of rats."

Ryan bolted down the hall, toward the door at the end.

Alex muttered a string of curses under his breath and caught up; the rats scrabbled against the tile behind them. He scrambled to put an arrow on the bow, he'd only shot a few times back in the capitol, and he hadn't done horribly…but he hadn't done excellent either. He took a shot at one of the rats, and hit it in the shoulder blade.

It squealed a horrible sound and sat up on its hind legs, its yellow eyes malicious. It lunged at Alex with its yellow teeth gnashing and he closed his eyes waiting for a bite.

There was a blur of movement and Ryan screamed in pain.

Alex opened his blue eyes to find his ally, clutching his right arm as it dangled pitifully at his side. He grabbed Ryan Mellark by the shoulders and pulled him through the exit, slamming the lock home. "Why did you do that?!" He demanded.

Ryan's face was quickly loosing color as he clutched at nearly severed limb, the blood pooled thickly on the floor around him. "We're allies." He groaned. "Besides, you have somebody who loves you at home. The girl I love doesn't even know I exist."

Alex forced Ryan's bloody hand away from the wound so he could look at it. "Let me look at it." He saw the severity of the damage and sucked in air through his teeth. It looked bad. "I don't know if I can repair the damage done to the muscle and the bone, but I can try to stop the bleeding." He said as he dug with determination into the first aid kit.

_**District 2, Lindsey Ardford**_

Lindsey stared from the crumpled, broken form of Virginia Hawthorne to Slater, who had Lynette by the shoulders and looked like he was going to explode. She didn't care if he killed the bitch, she deserved it for letting Ryan Mellark get their supplies.

Slater cocked his fist back, his face red, his body tense and obviously full of rage, he was ready to punch the District One tribute in the head.

Then, for the first time since the games had started, the wind began to pick up.

Lindsey looked through her red hair, which was whipping out of control in the breeze as a hovercraft emerged from the sky, brought out a crane and lifted Virginia's body away, vanishing instantly.

Slater, who had paused throttling the life out of Lynette, dropped his fist to his side, his face slack.

Lindsey knew that look, it was the look he got when he had hit rock bottom and didn't have a way to crawl back out. He was hopeless, helpless, and in this state of mind he was alone.

He sank to concrete in the ally, his back against the adjacent building; he put his head in his arms and sobbed.

"Do you know what you did?" Lindsey demanded, turning on Lynette, her rage flaring up so fast and so hot that she couldn't control it. "Do you have _any_ idea what he has been through?!" Her fingers went to her knives. She pulled one out with a hand that was trembling with rage. "That boy has been literally, through _hell_ and back! He has suffered more than you will ever know!"

Lynette's blue eyes flashed at the immediate thought of danger. "I didn't sign up for this game to lose."

"You didn't sign up for this at all!"

"Do you know what I had to do to make sure I got here?! To make sure that my name would be one remembered throughout Panem?" Lynette asked, making sure to keep her distance from the blade of Lindsey's knife. "I had to sleep with one of the judges to get that score!" She shouted at her.

"Then it isn't my fault you're a slut." Lindsey said, her voice dark. Then, with a well-practiced throw, the knife in her hand sailed through the air and imbedded itself in a blue eye.

Lynette was dead before she hit the ground.

* * *

_**R.I.P Lynette Flynn**_

_**Okay, I know somebody out there has to be reading this. I put a lot of time and effort into this story and these chapters. Please, be kind and review. **_

_**Who do you think is going to win the Hunger Games?**_


	39. Chapter 39: Hunger Games Day Seven

_**District 3, Sawyer Coleman**_

He hadn't known what he had been doing until he'd done it. He had kissed her, right smack on the mouth. He didn't know why…did he? One moment she had been rambling about how imperfect she was, and the next he had swept her off her feet and kissed her. Just like that. It was what he had wanted since he had first met her. Wasn't it?

"If you keep scowling like that you're going to mess up your face." Bandit Lee drawled, sitting next to him after throwing some slivers of cardboard onto the fire.

"What?" He asked, looking at her.

"That's what my ma always told my sister. Dale doesn't smile as much as she should."

Sawyer thought of Sebastian, poor kid. He was twelve going on thirty. He took everything so _literal _all of the time. He was too serious. He hadn't seen Sebastian smile in a long time, maybe because Sawyer was usually at work all day, and when he was he was out with his friends.

"My little brother doesn't smile as much as he should, either. Ever since my dad died I hadn't really seen him smile much."

"How did your dad die?" Bandit asked, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. She stared at him intently from across the fire.

Sawyer ran a hand through his sandy hair, sighing. "He was a Peacekeeper, and he died in a riot in District Eleven when I was twelve." The dog-tags around his neck seemed to weigh a million pounds, but he kept them tucked safely in his shirt.

"That's terrible." She said, scooting closer to him. "My dad taught me everything I know about horses, about ranching, about life…I don't even know what I would do without him."

"It was tough." Sawyer admitted. He remembered being young and coming home with his hands bloodied and scarred. For the longest time he hadn't been able to buy anything nice for his family because every penny they had went to feeding them. Sandra had been sick; the doctors were worried she wouldn't make it. His mom had practically been working herself to death, his brother looked worried and pale all of the time.

His mom would see his hands, and wrap them up, stifling the tears that he could see threatening to trail down her face. He'd have to be the one to tell her that it would be okay, that things would get better. He was right, and they eventually did for almost a year, and then he got reaped.

"What are you thinking about?" Bandit Lee asked him. She was sitting right next to him now.

He grinned at her, "My hands."

"Your hands?" She asked, clearly confused. Tentatively, she picked one of them up. Despite their kiss earlier she still seemed a little nervous around him. She turned one of his large hands over in her palm. "It's big and scarred."

He nodded. "It's scarred from working in the electronics factory when I was young."

"You're the Vice CEO now."

"Yeah, _now_. After working my way up the chain of command, but after my promotion, things worked so well that my mom could quit her job altogether and take care of Sebastian and Sandy."

"That's so sweet, that you take care of your family like that."

Sweet. Not attractive, or convenient. This practically blew his mind, because most of the girls back in District Three thought that his money was convenient, and saw him as a walking bank instead of a person. Not that he could blame them, though. Not the way he had treated them.

_**District 12, Ryan Mellark**_

"Ouch! Oh my god, _ow_!" Ryan groaned, his brown eyes squinched shut as he tried not to think about what Alex was doing to his arm. His free hand, his right, was clutching the plastic arm rest of a chair so hard he was worried that it was going to break his nails off.

"I'm sorry!" Alex said. "We don't have anything to numb the pain; we don't have anything to knock you out."

Ryan gritted his teeth as he felt the sharp, hot, stinging pain in what was left of his left arm. His teeth hurt, how hard he was clenching them together, but that was nothing compared to what he was feeling in his arm. "Are you almost done?" He growled, he sounded demonic. Even to his own ears.

"Just about."

How can one describe what they feel when you lose a limb? For Ryan, it was one part relief, one part pain, and two parts morbid. One moment he felt the tugging searing pain in his arm as Alex worked on it, then the next instant it was gone. He hadn't felt a thing.

He went to open his eyes, but Alex stopped him. "Don't open your eyes. Not yet."

Ryan felt the rough feeling of gauze as it was being wrapped around what was left of his arm, which started right above his elbow—well, where his elbow _had_ been. After what seemed like an eternity, the tourniquet (the elastic from Alex's pants) tightened even farther.

"Ouch." He grumbled.

"Sorry." Alex muttered. "You can open your eyes now."

Ryan opened his brown eyes, his hands moved up to rub them, but then he realized he no longer had his left arm anymore, and dropped is right arm to the side. He looked down at his bandaged arm, the gauze already starting to turn red. Then, his eyes drifted to what had formerly been his limb. It was lying lifelessly on the litter-strewn floor.

His mouth started to taste like copper, it started to water.

Ryan staggered to his feet, looking for something to vomit in. He found refuge in an abandoned sink I the corner. Once he was finished dry-heaving, he straightened himself up, and wiped the back of his mouth with his hand.

"Sorry about that." Alex said, bending to pick up the gory arm with two fingers. "I suppose we should get rid of it."

"Couldn't we use it for something?"

"Are you suggesting we _eat_?" Alex asked, incredulously. "We can't do that! It was bitten by a rat, it's probably infected with diseases."

Unable to stop the words from coming out of his mouth, Ryan said, "Doesn't that mean _I'm_ infected too?"

Alex looked up at him, fear in his blue eyes.

_**District 4, Coralie Alderly**_

Coralie had watched the scene before her unfold with mild interest. It was a relief that Lynette was dead, although Coralie would have liked the pleasure of carving up the model's precious face before she was actually dead.

She imagined Lynette's reaction would have been oddly satisfying. She would have thrashed and fought tooth-and-nail to get Coralie off of her, but Coralie would have stayed strong. She would have pinned the tribute's hands to the ground with a set of her knives, so she couldn't free her hands. Then, she would have taken a blade to her face, carving swirling, intricate patterns into her perfect features while she screamed for mercy. Screamed for the loss of her face, screamed over her upcoming death. And when Lynette's throat was raw and bloody, and she was unable to scream anymore, Coralie would have slowly slit her throat. The same way she had Coy Farley.

As much as Coralie would have liked to stay in that fantasy, being un-alert during the games was dangerous. Lindsey could kill her just as easily as she had killed Lynette.

Coralie's blue-green eyes took in her surroundings, and found no immediate harm.

Lindsey was crouched next to Slater, talking to him quietly, but the older tribute was not responding. His face was blank, he was done sobbing now.

She was familiar with the blank look on his face. It was one she had given many times herself, but she gave it for a very different reason. She believed that showing emotion was showing weakness. People couldn't find a way to get under your skin if they didn't know what your reaction was going to be. It made her a strong tribute, a force to be reckoned with.

With a sound of frustration, Lindsey rose to her feet. She looked around at what was left of their base camp. Her green eyes lingered on the bloodstain from Lynette's body. "We need to get out of here."

"Do you really think that's a good idea?" Coralie demanded, speaking up for the first time in hours.

"I think it's an excellent idea." Lindsey said darkly. "We need to get Slater to a place where he isn't reminded of Virginia, or Lynette for that matter. He'll stay in this dark place too long, then he'll never come back."

"I don't see how that's my problem."

Lindsey advanced toward her, looking somewhat intimidating, despite her small size. "Either you're still with us, or you're against us. If you're against us, then you are dead."

Coralie resisted the urge to kill Lindsey right there, there was still plenty of time in the games and it was a lot easier to find enemies in greater numbers. "I'm with you." Coralie grumbled. She couldn't wait to kill them.

* * *

**_So here is another chapter! I just couldn't stop writing! Everything is falling into place nicely now. Please review et cetera, et cetera._**

**_Also, who is your favorite tribute (dead or alive) in this story? Why?_**


	40. Hunger Games Day Seven Part II

_**District 6, Alex Flynn**_

Alex had tried to help Ryan as best as he could. He was failing miserably.

"Drink this." Alex demanded, shoving a chocolate protein drink in Ryan's trembling palm.

Ryan made a sound of disgust. "This is my third one in the past few hours!"

"Yes, and your color still isn't right. You look like a dead man, Ryan." He left it at that. He didn't tell Ryan that his wound was bleeding too much, and that he was probably going to die. He also didn't tell Ryan that he probably had an infection, and if blood loss didn't kill him the infection would.

"I feel like a dead man."

Alex pressed his lips in a thin line and gently pressed a pale hand to Ryan's forehead. It was alarmingly hot, he was fevered and sweating.

"What?" Ryan asked, sitting up slightly so he could see Alex's face. His brow creased as he studied his ally's face. "What is it?"

Alex was torn. He didn't know what to tell him. Did he tell him that he was dying and that they didn't have the right supplies to keep him alive? Was it better to let Ryan fall asleep, and never wake up? The rate the infection was spreading he wouldn't make it to the next day.

"Homesick." He lied. He instantly felt terrible, but he offered a weak smile and turned his back on his friend.

Believing his lie, Ryan laid back down, his brown head resting on his pack. He closed his brown eyes. "It's kind of cold in here."

It wasn't. It was excruciatingly hot, probably close to ninety degrees, but Alex didn't correct him. He moved to the blown out window, looking down the street. He could see the waves of heat rolling off the pavement as the sun began to set.

"Did you drink all of that drink?"

"The sludge? Yeah."

Alex studied the bloodied bandages from across the room. They needed changed, but they were almost out of gauze. Did he risk changing them now? "Do you want me to change your bandages?" Alex asked, crouching next to Ryan.

"Nah," his replied, his voice cracking. "I don't think I'm going to make it much longer, anyway."

Alex's heart sank. "You don't know that."

"I don't?" He asked slowly, his eyes remained shut. "You're sweating, I can see it and you aren't feverish." He took a breath, but it took longer than it should have. "You said it yourself, the rat was probably infected…that means…" He was having trouble forming words. "That means…I'm infected too. I can…feel the sweat running off of me. I know that it isn't—that it isn't healthy."

Alex studied his friend, his heart squeezing at the thought of losing his only friend he had in the games. "Your dad could still sponsor you."

"Maybe not." Ryan murmured. His brown eyes were glassy looking, and he was having trouble keeping them open. "Alex," He rasped.

"What?" He wanted to help his friend.

"If I fall asleep, will I wake up?"

"I don't know." Alex said, swallowing the lump that had suddenly emerged in his throat.

"Do you think it will hurt?"

"I don't know."

"I think…I'm going to fall asleep…I know I won't wake up…but…I'm so…_tired_. Will you watch over me?"

"I will." Alex whispered, a few tears dripping down his cheek.

Ryan smiled lightly. "Okay." Then, he closed his eyes.

Alex pressed his lips into a thin line and began to pace in front of the window, watching as the sun nearly disappeared over the city horizon. He watched Ryan struggled to breathe, he wondered if he should just kill him to end his pain. "No!" He hissed. "I won't do that to him! He's my friend. If he wanted that he would have asked me to—"

"Mom!" Ryan croaked, thrashing around from his spot on the floor. "Mom, come here!"

Alex looked at his friend, startled.

"Mom!"

Tentatively, Alex made his way to Ryan. He knelt next to his brown-haired friend, reached down and held his clammy hand in his own.

"I'm coming mom." He mumbled, before take a few more shallow breathes. Then, as Alex held his hand, Ryan Mellark quit breathing.

_**District 2, Slater O'Brien**_

His feet hurt, but he didn't care. His head ached, but he welcomed the pain. His eye throbbed, but it didn't matter anymore. He felt cold. Empty.

Slater know that slipping into the dark place he had once been comforted by was a dangerous game. It toyed with his state of mind, played his emotions like a marionette. Right now, he knew that he was standing on the edge of the pit of despair, something he had named the black hole of depression that had consumed him before he had thrown himself into his training.

"Eat this. _Now_." Lindsey demanded shoving some rough bread into his face. She looked impatient, like she'd been trying to get his attention for some time now.

Slater raised a hand, initially to bat it out of his face, but at the last moment he took it. He stared at it curiously for a moment. Why did he need to eat it? What was the point he was going to die anyway. Just like Virginia, just like his dad.

Maybe he had been better off staying home, allowing John to use him as his personal punching bag. Maybe he would have been luck he would have been dead long before the reaping had ever happened.

"Slater, eat it before I cram it so far down your throat my fist will become part of your digestive tract!" Lindsey snapped.

Numbly, Slater took a bite of the coarse bread.

"Take those stupid glasses off. How can you even see? It's dark!"

He reached up to take off his sunglasses off, but paused.

Why? What was the point?

_**District 10, Bandit Lee Highland**_

She was half-asleep when she heard a sound off to her right. Bandit Lee sat up, and pushed her blonde hair out of her face. She squinted the sleep out of her eyes to see Sawyer sitting with his back against a wall, as he stared out of the building, the blue glow of the electronic lantern dimming his features. She saw him reach up and wipe a large hand over his eyes.

Slowly, Bandit rose, a look of concern crossing her features.

He hadn't seen her stand, he was still staring out the window, tears rolling down his cheeks—silently for the most part.

"What's wrong?" She asked, her voice thick with sleep.

He shook his sandy blonde head. "It's nothing."

"Nothing doesn't make people cry." She said, feeling obligated to point that out. She stood with her arms across the chest of his white t-shirt that hung to her knees.

He shook his head.

"Tell me!" She said, standing in front of him now.

"I was such a jerk back home." He said, giving a chagrined half-smile. "I'm a jerk now."

"I don't think you're a jerk."

"Well, you'd be a first. I used to charm my way through life. Into getting what I needed for the factory, into getting my mom to let me do stuff, into getting girls to doing what I wanted. So I could…do _things _with them. Now, I'm trying to be a jerk to you."

"You aren't a jerk."

He lumbered to his feet, standing over her. "I'm not? Then why would I hit on you like I did? Why would I try to _kill_ you, then _kiss_ you? You don't even feel that way about me!"

"I do." The words escaped her lips before she had the chance to stop them. Realizing what she had said, she felt the need to say them again. "I do feel that way about you."

"No you—"

She stood on her tiptoes, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. Hard.

He wrapped his massive arms around her without hesitation, kissing her back just as hard. He had her pulled against him, but she didn't feel smothered.

Bandit Lee's heart was racing, thudding painfully in her chest. She had her eyes closed, but that didn't stop spots from dancing in front of her vision. Her lungs were burning until she remembered to breathe through her nose.

She didn't want this to stop. Ever.

She slid her hands up his shirt, running them up his stomach. It wasn't like he had a six-pack, there was a decent amount of pudge there, but she didn't care.

Sawyer grabbed her wrists and pulled them away from him, breaking the kiss. "Bandit," He breathed. "We need to stop."

"What if I don't want to?"

"This is exactly what I was talking about a few minutes ago! We can't go around doing this, it isn't right."

She frowned at him. Was there something wrong with her?

It hurt, being rejected like that. It stung, like he had slapped her across the face, but it was different. This made her heart squeeze so hard she thought it was going to explode.

He ran a stressed hand through his hair again. "Please go back to bed."

She turned away from him, "Okay."

* * *

_**RIP Ryan Mellark**_

_**Okay, things are starting to gain momentum in the games! I've been writing like crazy because I'm so close to the climax of the story and I can't stop! Also, Abandoning Hope is officially over 100 pages in microsoft word! YAYY!**_

_**Who is your favorite NON-tribute? This can be a tribute's family, friends, stylist, etc.**_


	41. Chapter 41: Hunger Games Day Eight

_**WARNING: Things in this chapter get rather gruesome at some parts and have just a hint of lemon in others (not enough to require a rating change)**_

* * *

_**District 2, Lindsey Ardford**_

Lindsey was so frustrated with Slater that she couldn't have found the words to explain herself even if she had wanted to.

She understood that with his traumatic past he was prone to Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, but she had never actually witnessed it more than two or three times. This time was the worst she had ever seen it. But, from that handful of times she knew that two things had to happen to get him out of it.

The first was to do something so irritating, so heinous, and so unbelievably rash that it got Slater to actually focus on something for more than a few moments at a time.

The second thing would quickly follow—it normally happened on its own—to make Slater angry. Very, _very_ angry. They had to find something that mad Slater so mad he'd actually start feeling again, so he could scream until he was red in the face, and he'd feel better about it.

Lindsey could remember it like it was just yesterday…

_She had been sparring with another career named George in the training room. Slater had suffered a flashback only the da y prior, and he was sitting on a bench, his red head down, his white muscle shirt unstained, his sunglasses perched on his nose, and, of course, his face a unreadable mask. _

_ Not too far from her—a girl whose name she never knew—was practicing with the archery equipment. Her trainer was screaming at her, his face so red it was practically purple. Then, he had extended his arm and backhanded the girl across the face. She fell to the floor crying. _

_ Calmly, as if he were just walking to retrieve his own archery gear, Slater meandered over to the man. He mumbled something quietly to him, before grabbing the man's arm and snapping it as if it were no more than a pencil. Shortly after, Slater had the man pinned to the polished wooden floor, and was screaming at him. _

_ It had taken four other trainers to pull Slater off of him. And a little later that day, Slater had been almost back to normal. _

"See that?" Coralie asked, using a knife to point to something white that had slipped between the buildings.

"Yeah." Lindsey said, narrowing her green eyes in suspicion. She had been too busy reminiscing to consider that they were actually in a vulnerable position. "I wonder if it's Alex."

"I'm not going to wait and find out." Coralie said, her voice monotone as she jogged almost silently toward the moving shape, her blonde curls bouncing after her.

"Let's go, Slater." Lindsey said, her knives in her hands. She set off after Coralie, knowing that Slater would be right behind her like a mindless zombie.

_**District 4, Coralie Alderly**_

Coralie had been feeling twitchy. She wasn't sure if it was because she wanted to kill, or if it was because a storm was rolling in overhead. She could feel the static in the air, which she normally associated with storms back home. It made her excited.

So, when the opportunity to do something, aside from sitting around waiting for Slater to pull out of his misery, presented itself she decided that make what she could out of it.

She was barefoot, but she was used to that. She had run barefoot on the beaches of District Four hundreds—if not thousands—of times. She felt that she was a more efficient runner barefoot than with her sneakers on.

Coralie slowed as she neared a dead end, the only escape was an opening just barely wide enough for a person to fit through. Knowing Alex wasn't any bigger than she was, she slipped through the space. Lindsey and Slater were behind her.

There was no way to escape except for the way she had come in. Four massive buildings towered over her, forming a solid wall. The only way out was through the opening from which she had just come. But, the risk was worth it when she saw Alex Flynn cornered, his blue eyes wide with fear.

She grinned at him.

He held up his hands, "Please, you don't want to do this. I could be your ally. I could help you." His face was paler than usual (she hadn't thought that a possibility), and his lips were pressed into a nearly invisible line.

Coralie shook her blonde head. "No. These games are winding down. There are only five of us left, and the Gamemakers are looking for a big finale. As long as I'm alive, I'm going to give them what they want."

Effortlessly, Coralie threw her knife. It hit Alex in the navel, probably right where his bellybutton would be.

The smaller tribute from District Six sank to his knees in the only part of the arena that had grass. Blood was staining the front of his light blue t-shirt. He gaped at her horrified.

Coralie didn't give him time to talk. She kicked him in the chest, knocking him onto his back. She straddled him, and took a knife out. "I'm going to make you pretty." She giggled. She took the tip of the knife and pressed it to the side of Alex's face, where it cut the skin as if it was no more than butter. She proceeded to draw squiggly lines down his parchment-pale face. "Aren't you going to scream?" She asked amidst her giggles.

"No." He replied. His dark blue eyes focused on something above his head.

Coralie looked up for a moment and found one of those moving-cameras rolling silently down the wall, towards them. Shrugging, she went back to her previous task.

"Jack," Alex panted. "I love you."

"That's cute!" Coralie sneered. "Declarations of love…no wonder you're so weak!" She spat. She plunged the knife down directly in front of her, stabbing Alex in the chest.

He wheezed in pain, "Love doesn't make people weak. It only makes them stronger."

This infuriated Coralie. In a roar of murderous acerbity, she brought another knife to the tribute's already ruined face, making sure to leave the knife imbedded in his chest.

He was almost beyond identification now, but he was still alive.

"Enough!" Lindsey snarled from behind her.

Coralie disregarded her.

"I said that's _enough_!"

There was an incredibly pain in Coralie's right arm, she looked down to see a knife wedged in her forearm. Coralie staggered to stand, an animalistic growl emanating from her throat. She pulled out Lindsey's knife and attempted to throw it at her with her left hand. It stuck in the grass between them.

Lindsey passed behind Coralie and quickly slit Alexander Flynn's throat, then rose to face Coralie, her green eyes wide as she clutched the bloody knives in her hand. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"You cut me." Coralie stated. Her fury was like a monster, swelling up inside her so large she was no longer able to contain it. "YOU _**CUT**_ ME!" She lashed forward with her knife.

Lindsey saw the upcoming attack and danced out of the way, earning her a shallow cut across her neck. Nothing too disastrous.

This infuriated Coralie even more, and she lunged at Lindsey again, with her left hand. The red-head never saw the knife Coralie had thrown until after it imbedded itself into her heart.

_**District 3, Sawyer Coleman**_

Bandit Lee hadn't said much throughout the day, but that was normal…wasn't it? Sawyer assumed that she was the type of person to remain silent unless she was being addressed.

It was the hottest day yet. He wiped his forearm across his sweaty brow. "It's hot out here, isn't it?"

She shrugged indifferently.

Sawyer frowned, no reference to District Ten? It had become very obvious within the first day or two of their alliance that Bandit Lee was very homesick. She usually referred everything to some experience from her home. "Does it get hot in District Ten?"

"Yeah." She said curtly.

What was going on with her?

His green eyes scanned the sky, which—for the first times since the games had started—were darkening with the threat of a storm. "It looks like it's going to storm."

As if to showcase his point, lightning flickered in the mass of the storm clouds.

Two cannons boomed out, one right after the other. He did the math in his head, but before he could say anything, Bandit Lee said, "Four."

Four.

Who would have guessed that Sawyer Coleman, who the most people had seen as the pampered kid from District Three, would make it to the final four?

"Are you—" He was about to ask her if she was okay, her short responses and stiff attitude had made him wonder if she was alright. Instead, thunder boomed overhead, and it instantly started to downpour, soaking through his clothes in a mere matter of moments.

"What is wrong with you?" He finally asked her.

She looked up at him through eyelashes stuck together with beading water. "I'm fine."

"No you're not!" He exclaimed over the roar of rain hitting tin roofs. "All day long, you have been avoiding me, or ignoring me as much as you possibly can. Why?"

"I'm mad at you!" She exclaimed back. Her blonde hair almost fell to her lower back when it was wet.

"Why?"

"You hurt me!"

He blinked at her, baffled. How had he hurt her? He didn't think he had, and if he _did_ he sure as hell didn't mean to!

"You think I'm disgusting! You _rejected_ me! You pushed me away and told me to go back to sleep."

He couldn't help but laugh.

She glared at him with her dark blue eyes. "What is so funny?!"

"You think I pushed you away because I thought you were _disgusting_? You think that I don't _like _you?" He stepped closer to her, so their wet bodies were almost touching. He could feel the heat radiating off of her wet skin. "You couldn't be more wrong. I _love_ you."

"Prove it to me."

Sawyer pulled Bandit against him, pressing his mouth against hers. They kissed with a fervent passion, the rain dripping between them, running all over them. He kissed her neck, which caused her to sigh. He liked that sound; it meant he was doing something right.

Bandit gripped his chin and guided his mouth back to hers, where their tongues mingled once more, her hand rubbed his under his soaked, white t-shirt.

He felt her teeth graze against his bottom lip, causing him to groan. He was backed against the wall of a building now. He kissed her hard again, before pulling his mouth away from hers. "We need to stop."

"Why?"

"You know why." He swallowed. "I don't you to think—to think that I just want to—"

She kissed him again, a little softer. "I know what you're thinking. I want this; I want this more than anything. I'm going to die soon anyway…"

His heart contracted painfully in his chest. He pulled her closer to him. "Don't say that Bandit Lee Highland, don't you say that!"

"It's true!"

"If I have it my way you're going to get out of here alive. You're going to start a family, you're going to be successful."

"I don't want to think about it." She said. "Right now, I just want it to be me and you and nobody else." She pulled his lips to hers once more and things escalated.

Thankfully, the door opened and the tumbled inside, where Sawyer flew higher and faster than he ever had before.

They were a tangle of limbs and skin, rainwater and sweat, lust and passion.

* * *

_**How was that?! I feel like it is one of my best chapters. Please tell me how I'm doing with a review, they make me happy and how can one deny another of their happiness?**_

_**Also, if you could be friends with ANY of the tributes (dead or alive) who would it be?**_


	42. Hunger Games Day Nine

_**Okay, I totally messed up. I pre-write everything and didn't post the correct chapter.**_

* * *

_**District 2, Slater O'Brien**_

_**BOOM**_!

The cannon fire seemed to echo in his head. It kept repeating over, and over, and over again. His eyes couldn't stop seeing the image of Lindsey's lifeless body hitting the small patch of grass. Her red hair whipping crazily as she fell, her jade eyes widened in surprise, the red stain getting larger on her shirt, as if it were a delicate rose opening up to see the sun.

His head slowly rose, and he took off his sunglasses, letting them fall to the ground carelessly. He didn't care if he had them or not. Not now, they were just a stupid piece of plastic!

Coralie looked at him at first with fear—like she had just realized she had awakened a monster that was too far out of her control. The fear was gone quickly, though. It was replaced with a twisted look of glee. A look so macabre Slater had only seen it once…on his stepfather. Coralie picked up a blade and grinned, her face spattered with gore from her previous victims.

Slater looked around, here he was surrounded by four walls, and four corners…too many for his comfort. He needed to lure her back to the street. Carefully, he squeezed himself through the hole in which he had come, being sure never to take his eyes off of his opponent.

His right eye was almost back into working condition now. If he wasn't paying attention it would slip out of focus and make everything blurry, but if he survived this battle with the scary tribute from District Four he would be better by the next day.

Back on concrete, and right in the middle of the dejected street, Slater grinned at Coralie. He absently thought that she was pretty, in a weird way…even if she was covered in blood and gore, and her blonde curls were a dirty, untamed mane. He thought that other people would have looked gruesome, or frenzied, but Coralie had a way of making it look like fierce beauty.

But, she had pissed him off for the last time.

"She was better than you!" He called to her, as the sky opened up and dumped buckets of rain down upon them.

"She was not." Coralie said back. The way she had said it was unnerving. She hadn't yelled, but instead used a deadly calm voice which chilled Slater right to the very core. Yelling and screaming he could deal with—he had done it for years—but this was downright chilling.

"Sure she was," he grinned at her as he gripped his broadsword with one hand, and a hunting knife in the other. "She was a better knife thrower, she was more intimidating—" He hadn't seen Coralie throw the knife, she was too quick, but he did see her cock her arm back right before she had released, which had given him time to dodge the blade, which skittered harmlessly to the wet concrete.

Coralie let out a yowl of frustration, hardly heard over the clap of thunder.

Chuckling, Slater kicked the knife out of the way. "Jeez, maybe I was wrong. You _are_ better than she was, which is impressive! I thought she had the 'World's Biggest Bitch' award nailed down! You're giving her a run for her money, though!"

"Don't call me that!" Coralie exclaimed, before throwing another knife at him.

Slater had never thought that Lindsey throwing knives at him would come in handy, but he was lucky it had. He sidestepped this one just as easily. "Lindsey would have hit me by now." He spat rainwater out of his mouth. "But, you aren't her."

He tossed the thick knife into the street, behind him. Taking a few big steps toward Coralie, he swung the blade of his sword, level with her head.

Coralie danced out of the way, but caught her left arm—the one that had an interesting series of scars—with the edge. She turned to face him again, her blue-green eyes full of spite. "I'm going to make sure your death is extra slow. And Lindsey won't be here to stop me this time."

"I'd like to see you try!" He called over the sound of the rain.

Coralie looked like she was going to throw a knife, so Slater sidestepped, but he didn't see the one she held in her bleeding hand. It sliced upward, getting him in the solar plexus.

It felt like somebody had taken a match that had been burning white-hot and stuck it in the middle of his body. Slater instantly struggled to breathe; she had definitely punctured a lung.

He took a deep breath, struggling around the blood that had been filling his lungs and took another swing at Coralie. This time, it sliced from near the corner of her mouth upwards, across her nose—nearly hitting her eye, and into her hairline.

Slater coughed the blood in his mouth. He was drowning in his own blood. Spitting what he had in his mouth onto the sidewalk, he watched as it quickly was washed away, in a swirl of rusty crimson.

Coralie had her back turned to him, her head buried in her hands.

Slater held his sword up high, he was going to do something dirty, he was going to kill her while her back was turned. He held it above her, but before he could strike she whirled around and pulled him to the ground. "You were going to kill me when I wasn't looking?!" She snarled, kneeling on his chest, which was bleeding profusely. "You call yourself a career?!" She brought her last knife down toward his face, and pressed the tip to his cheek.

Slater felt the sting as she pressed the knife to him. He looked up into her blue-green eyes, trying to figure out a way to throw her off of him. The blood running down his face felt a lot warmer than the cool rainwater.

"You cut my face. Now I'm going to cut _yours_." She said through clenched teeth.

It felt white-hot as it drug across his face, it pissed him off. He knew that he was dead. He couldn't breathe. As his world faded into darkness, into nothing, he summoned the last of his strength and spit the blood that had been pooling in his mouth into her face.

_**District 10, Bandit Lee Highland**_

Bandit Lee woke up and felt…different. She wasn't sure how to explain it, she knew that what had happened to her and Sawyer the previous day was usually something that was done between spouses, or people that were deeply in love. It wasn't usually something spontaneously done.

Rolling over, she saw him, facing her. He looked a lot younger when he was asleep, the furrow line between his brows smoothed out. He was bare-chested, the un-zipped sleeping bag they had used tucked up to his naval. His sandy-blonde hair was in disarray—from her this time—as it lay against his well-muscled arm.

Softly, she got out from underneath the blanket and rose to her feet. She didn't want to wake him. She pulled on one of his t-shirts, smiling to herself because it smelled like him; she pushed open the heavy steel door and was blinded by bright sunlight.

She heard a beeping, but it was hard to find it because her eyes were adjusting to the harsh light. Once she blinked away the spots, she saw something white hanging from a lamp post. When she neared it, she saw that it was a parachute.

She jumped up, and on the fourth try managed to yank it down. Attached to it, was a brown leather bullwhip and a soggy note that read in smearing ink,

_I've been taking care of Casanova for you, Pa says to stay calm, Louis is proud of you—actually, all of us are—and I can't believe you did that! You're lucky mom and dad were asleep! Don't worry; your secret is safe with us!_

_ ~Dale_

Bandit felt her face flush; she crumpled up the note and cast it aside. She felt the familiar leather grip of the bullwhip in her hand. She flicked her wrist, which took a lot of practice to achieve, and the result was a sharp, resounding _CRACK_!

She couldn't help but grin, but the door that led to their camping spot burst open and Sawyer stood in the doorway, dressed only in khaki cargo shorts, looking distressed.

"There you are!" He exclaimed. He strode toward her, cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. "I was worried that you left."

"Why would I do that?" She asked him, a frown falling onto her features. "No, I came out to see if it was storming still, and my sister sent me this." She held up the bullwhip as if it were an explanation.

"Can you actually use one of those?"

"Of course." She cracked it for emphasis. "It isn't a very good offensive weapon, but it's great for defense. It's what we use on the unruly bulls back home."

He eyed her up and down, making her feel exposed, which was weird, considering that they had seen each other as vulnerable as one could be the previous night. His green eyes held a glint that she had only seen once before, the previous night. It was the same look that had turned her insides into water. "I suppose it would be kind of hard for you to run away while wearing _that_?"

Furiously blushing, she replied, "Yeah, this _rag_ leaves me a little naked…don't you think?"

"Rag?! That is high-quality cotton!" He exclaimed, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He bent down, picked her up and spun her.

"Quit it!" She giggled, "Put me down so I can get dressed and then we can head on our merry way."

"That's probably a good idea." He said. "If you don't get dressed, we may have a repeat of last night."

As her bare feet touched the concrete, she felt her face turn a violent shade of crimson. She turned her face away so he couldn't see and walked into the building, where their stuff was scattered throughout the corner of the room. Images from the previous night came back in alarming detail.

_The door shut behind them, they were in a tangle of arms and legs, their lips mashing together furiously. Quickly, Sawyer had unrolled and unzipped a sleeping bag, letting it lay spread out of the floor. He stood over her once more. "Tell me this is what you want. I'm not going to make you do this." _

_ "This is what I want." She had never been more sure of anything in her entire life. _

She remembered him hovering over her, his body gleaming with sweat, his eyes holding a lusty fire that she had never seen before. She ran her fingers through her blonde hair and pulled on her jeans. They hadn't said anything to each other after that. They just had fallen asleep, curled up against each other.

She knelt, rolling up the sleeping bag, and gathering their packs and carrying them outside. "Here's a shirt." She tossed it at him without looking at him, and coiled her new whip in her belt loops.

He grinned at her, "You don't want to see my fabulous body all day?"

She grinned back. "Let's get moving."

He took the other pack and threw it over his broad shoulders. "What way do you purpose we go? We could head that way, but I'm pretty sure we're close to the border, so we have to be careful, one shock will kill you."

"Did you design that, too?"

He shrugged, looking a little uncomfortable. "I might have helped with the plans."

"Really?" She asked as they rounded the corner.

Instead of answering her, he stopped and put a hand out to stop her, his body going ridged.

Bandit Lee peered around him and saw Coralie, ahead of them. Her blonde hair was ragged and bloodstained, his clothes torn and covered in gore. Her face looked like it had been slashed. She looked feral. She looked…_insane_.


	43. FINAL BATTLE (Important note at the end)

_**Okay guys, here is the final chapter in the arena! Things get very crazy, and you may not like the ending, but I couldn't help myself!**_

* * *

_**District 3, Sawyer Coleman**_

Sawyer had seen Coralie before Bandit Lee, and he knew by the look of sheer mania in her eyes and the large amount of dried blood on her face and clothing that Coralie wasn't approaching them to make friends. He gripped the hilt of his sword tighter, and pushed Bandit Lee behind him. "Can I help you?" He called out to her.

Coralie stopped moving, and tilted her head to the side. Her blue-green eyes showed no signs of sanity. It showed Sawyer that the lights were on, but nobody was home. Slowly, a slimy grin stretched across her face, which was marred by a new scar. "I'm glad that there's more of you left. I was afraid I'd never find you!" She let out a tiny giggle that would have been innocent if it hadn't been for the contradicting malevolent look on her face.

Sawyer narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously, she wasn't making sense. What had happened to the Careers? Had she killed them all? "What—"

With a murderous roar, Coralie lunged at him. Her small hands were turned into lethal talons, and she had a knife clenched in one of her fists. Before she was able could reach him, there was a blonde flash a loud _CRACK_! A red line formed across Coralie's chest, seeping blood. She took a staggering step back; her eyes watching the crimson line expand across her white tank top.

Bandit Lee stood between Sawyer and Coralie, her whip dripping blood. She her narrow jaw set stubbornly, her blue eyes filled with cold determination. When Coralie made to advance again, Bandit cracked the whip, causing the District Four tribute to back a few steps. "You're used to an intimidating the other tributes. You can't intimidate me." Her voice was low and deadly.

"Bandit, stop." Sawyer said, gently resting a large hand on her shoulder. The last thing he wanted was for her to get hurt. He had finally found somebody worth dying for and now she was going to try and risk her life for him. He couldn't let that happen. He _would not_ let her die for him.

"No." She said it darkly. "I won't. She's been tormenting others for long enough. My pa's got no tolerance for bullies, I ain't got none either. If we had a bull that was extra pushy and injuring the others in the herd, we'd shoot it, because one was a small price to pay and if we hadn't shot it our whole herd would have been worth a lot less money."

He noted how her drawl came back stronger when she was mad. He reached out and pulled her behind him. "I won't let you hurt yourself."

"Sawyer—"

"No," he said stopping her, never taking his green eyes off Coralie. "If you have the chance to go home I'm going to send you home."

"Why?"

"Because I love you." He seemed so sure about it now. He knew that it was the truth, and nothing less. Sawyer held up his sword like he had practiced in training and advanced toward Coralie, his jaw set in a hard line.

Before he had the chance to strike, she sprung at him. It was almost like she was trying to take him to the ground, but he was too large for her small frame. She grappled with the shirt on his back, trying to get a handhold, finding purchase in his sandy blonde hair.

Sawyer thrashed, trying to dislodge her. He felt the sting of her knife as it sliced across his shoulder blades. He tried desperately to get her off of his back, but her knife was dug too deep. But, it hadn't hit anything of major importance, that he was almost certain.

Being as large as he was had its disadvantages. His big feet caused him to trip over the curb and he fell down, hitting his knees off the concrete. Falling forward he was careful to make sure he was face down, so she couldn't slit his throat.

He heard Bandit Lee grunt as the weight was taken off his back.

Sawyer rolled to the side, to see the pair of blondes fighting each other. Both locked into a deadly dance. He felt that Coralie was the one with the better advantage, due to her training, but Bandit Lee was holding her own fairly well.

Sawyer lumbered to his feet, picking his sword up off the ground. He needed to help Bandit, he _needed_ to make sure she stayed alive.

Coralie would slash at Bandit with her knives and Bandit would dance out of the way, cracking her whip, landing the occasional blow. Coralie threw something, and Bandit doubled over, staggering. Then, her body hit something—something that Sawyer couldn't see and she dropped to the ground, unmoving.

_**BOOM**_!

"The force field." He whispered. It took him a few moments of obtuse silence to realize that Bandit wasn't getting up. That she was dead.

Sawyer found himself remembering the sink in his bathroom back home; you put the rubber plug in, filled it with water, and when you were finished you pulled the rubber plug. All of the water drained out in a swirl and left the basin empty. That was how his heart felt, like somebody had just pulled the rubber plug and now there was nothing left.

He had never felt so angry in his entire life. He gritted his teeth, aware of the blood running down his back from where the blonde bitch had sliced it. He held his sword up, and ran at Coralie, who was too scared to move. He swung at her, and with one hard motion her blonde head fell to the concrete, eyes still open with fear.

_**BOOM**_!

The sword clattered to the pavement, leaving a splatter of blood behind. Sawyer pushed a hand through his sandy hair, causing the blood and sweat to stain it. Numbly, he walked toward Bandit Lee's body. When he reached it, he fell to his knees, cradling her limp body to his chest.

Sawyer didn't care if it was considered weak to cry, he didn't care the all of Panem was watching. He cried, he buried his face in her blonde hair and cried. He wished that Bandit's limp arms would wrap around him, hold him back just as tightly as he was holding her. That she would smile up at him and tell him that it was going to be okay, that they were going to get through it.

She was still.

Sawyer had never felt the way he had about Bandit. Sure, it hadn't been the first time he had sex, but it _had_ been the first time he'd had sex with somebody he truly cared about. He loved her, and now she was gone.

Through his bleary tear-filled eyes he saw the hovercraft. He didn't want to leave her, not here. Not like this. He felt a sharp pain in his neck, he reached up and pulled out the dart they had shot him with. This was how it was going to be? Ripped from the arms of his lover by force?

He remembered seeing the faces of the peacekeepers as they surrounded him before they bleared out of focus and faded away.

_**Third Person POV**_

"That is just disgusting." Dr. Shannon Vulcan said as she covered up the severed head of the District Four tribute with a white sheet. She tucked a stray blonde curl back under her cap.

"This isn't the first time you've seen something like that…right?" Lieutenant Triton asked her, a dark brow raised in skepticism over his grey eyes.

Vulcan shook her head. She had worked as a doctor for the games for years now. She was the one that declared all of the tributes dead. "Just because I've seen it before doesn't mean that I _like_ it." She told the young, strappy peacekeeper. "It is kind of hard to believe that children can be so brutal."

In their defense, each of them had been fighting for their lives.

"I had bet on District Four, and the girl from District Two to be the final two, I was hoping the blonde one would win. I'm out of a couple hundred bucks now." Triton said, his lips pressed into a thin line under his helmet. He nodded to the other blonde—the one that had been electrocuted. "She's dead…right?"

Shannon picked up the limp wrist of the girl; her body was still a little warm. "Very dead," She replied when she could not locate a pulse.

"We're passing through the barrier!" The pilot called back from the cockpit. "Everybody get your rubber gear on."

The hovercrafts were not shock-resistant, and with the wattage the force field put out, everybody was prone to a harsh shocking if they weren't wearing the appropriate gear.

Shannon pulled on the thick rubber boots, the heavy rubber gloves, and the rubber apron, sniggering at Peacekeeper Triton as he grumbled about looking ridiculous. "If you want to look like _her_ you can leave it off." She offered.

He showed her a finger that told her how much he cared.

"Approaching barrier." The pilot called.

As they passed through the barrier, the lights and other equipment flickered off, and powered back on for a moment.

There was a loud gasp, and the blonde on the table sat up, her blue eyes wide with fear, her chest heaving as she struggled for air. "What happened?" She demanded, looking frazzled. Her dark blue eyes found the remains of Coralie Alderly, and she skidded sideways off the table. "What is going on?!" She shouted.

Shannon couldn't believe her eyes. She knew that when patients came into her office screaming code blue, a shock would start their hearts again. She never thought that it would happen to her here, during the Hunger Games. She looked at Triton, her green eyes wide. "Decapitation, I've seen before. _That_ is something I've never seen before."

* * *

**_ATTENTION: _**

**_I was thinking of making a series of One-Shot (possibly more, depending on how you guys like them) Spinoffs of the tributes before they were reaped. Sort of like a prequel to this story. What do you guys think about that? You can PM me ideas, or review your thoughts!_**

**_Also, don't go anywhere there are still three or so more chapters left in this story. _**


	44. Chapter 44: Victory Speech

_**District 3, Sawyer Coleman**_

Sawyer stood still, as the stylist working on him straightened the last few articles of clothing. It wasn't the same stylist he had before going into the games; the previous one had been so old he had passed away shortly after the third day. This one was young, and had previously been Oakleigh Gilbert's stylist.

"You're awfully quiet." Ian said. "You should be happy that you won. You get to go home; you get to see your family. You get to keep living your life, which is more than the other twelve get to do."

"I know." Sawyer said quietly. He was still trying to cope with Bandit Lee's death, and it wasn't going well. Ian had to practically break down the door to Sawyer suite and drag him off the floor in the bathroom in a half-drunken stupor. "Did you watch?" He asked, his green eyes glued to the narrower frame of the man.

Ian spun around the cracking leather chair, and nodded somberly. His blue-green-grey eyes were tinged with sadness. "I did."

Sawyer sat down. "What did you think?"

"I think we need to get rid of your red eyes." Ian replied, a pot of makeup in one hand and a feathery brush in the other.

"That isn't what I meant."

Ian Salvatore gave Sawyer another sad look. "I know what you meant. I just don't know how to answer you. I think it's terrible. You lost somebody you loved, but _you_ are the one that is alive now. _You _need to think of what Bandit Lee would want for you. If she loved you back she'd want you to carry on with your life and remember her and that special night you spent together."

He swallowed the thick wad that had formed in his throat. He knew that. He knew that Bandit wouldn't want him drinking himself into a mess, but he couldn't help himself. He had loved her and now she was gone.

"Mr. Salvatore," A young and petite woman with frizzy magenta curls piled haphazardly on top of her head said. She waved her clipboard at him, her magenta eyes wide, "Is Mr. Coleman ready for the crowning?"

"Just about." Ian replied, blending the rest of the cool, sticky concealer under Sawyer's eyes. He assessed his quick work before nodding to himself. He set the makeup back on the counter, pulled the apron off Sawyer's massive frame and tossed it aside. In a deep resounding—and somewhat mocking—voice he said, "Rise my child!"

Sawyer stifled an eye-roll and lumbered to his feet, allowing Ian to fuss over him for a few more moments.

"Listen to me," The young stylist said to him in a low voice, "you cannot let them know that they broke you. You need to pretend like you aren't hurt."

"What do you want me to do?" Sawyer demanded. "You want me to go back out there and pretend like the games never happened?! That I haven't changed?!"

Ian didn't flinch at Sawyer's booming tone; he said calmly, "Yes, trust me. I know it is going to suck, it's going to hurt. But, you need to turn on the charm for the Capitol, because those people are the ones that kept you alive."

Sawyer brushed past him and stepped up onto the chariot. He didn't need some overpaid stylist to tell him what to do.

"You're live in five…four…three…two…" The young lady with magenta hair signaled for Sawyer's driver to move.

The chariot lurched forward and Sawyer gently gripped the rail in front of him until they galloped out of the tunnel and into the street. As soon as the light blinded him Sawyer's face morphed into a false mask of cockiness and charm.

He raised his arm high and waved at the people of the Capitol, grinning at them as they roared too loud for him to think properly. He winked at a group of girl with teal-colored skin, who swooned in response. Yes. This was what he was used to.

The chariot bounded over the cobblestones, but his hair stayed perfectly in place, as well as his synthetic smile, and the glint in his eyes.

Was this how his life was going to be from now on? Grinning and smiling on the outside, but dying on the inside. Narrowly avoiding the ever-growing hole of depression

The chariot slowed in the center and next to a fountain stopped completely.

Sawyer stepped down, feeling strange in his newly polished shoes. Why? Why was this different for him? He had spent the past year of his life wearing perfect uniforms and shiny shoes. Sure, he had spent the past week and a half in sneakers, but really, he was just reverting his old ways.

He gave one final wave to the crowd before turning and allowing himself to be escorted by the peacekeepers.

One of them, with a slew of dark curls and grey eyes looked at him like he knew something about Sawyer that nobody else did.

Sawyer dismissed it, he probably thought the night of Sawyer and Bandit's intimacy was a secret, but it was on national television. Everybody knew.

He climbed the stone steps and sat in a fancy, upholstered chair that resembled a throne.

He was a victor now, he was only going to get the best of everything…it was strange to think that he was getting the best of everything and he didn't even have to lift a finger for it. He had worked for everything he had ever received in his life, but now it was just going to be handed to him.

President Snow rose, cleared his throat and then spoke into the microphone. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Tonight is a very special night; it is the day that we crown ourselves another victor!" He paused for the crowd's deafening screams. "This young man worked incredibly hard to be seated in the very spot he is in today. He is incredibly smart, and portrayed an excellent set of skills in the arena. He made allies, and he watched them fall in their attempt to achieve victory, and they will surely never be forgotten. May we have a moment of silence for his crowning?"

Everybody was silent, it made Sawyer uneasy.

He jumped when he felt something touch his head, but it was just the mayor of his district crowning him. The mayor offered him a weak smile, and then set the intricate silver crown upon Sawyer's head. He stepped back so the world could admire him.

The crowd roared again.

"The odds," President Snow said, hushing the crowd once more. "Were in his favor. May they be in his favor forever and always. Please welcome this year's victor, Sawyer Robert Coleman from District Three." President Snow stepped aside.

Sawyer rose, bowing respectfully.

"Come make your speech, son."

He swallowed the lump in his throat and stepped up to the podium that held the Capitol's crest upon it. "Hello everybody." He made sure that he was smiling his best smile for the citizens of Panem. "When I was reaped, I didn't actually think I was going to be _here_—standing on this podium before you. Many families were broken because of these games, many bodies, and many limbs. I want you guys to know that even though I am standing here before you all, victorious, that I am not unscathed. I have my battle scars, physically, mentally, and most of all_ emotionally_." Sawyer remembered holding Bandit's unmoving body on the pavement, and the tears that he had let flow freely. "I met some incredible people in these games." He saw Bandit's face the first time he had ever talked to her. "I also saw and did some incredible things. Thank you all for watching and supporting me, and may the odds be ever in your favor!" He finished abruptly, before his composure cracked.

The Capitol roared, and he stepped off the podium, feeling numb on the inside, but shining like a new star on the outside.


	45. When Strangers Come Knocking

_**District 3, Sawyer Coleman**_

There was a loud thudding on the door, rousing Sawyer from his drunken sleep. He thought about just letting the person knock until they gave up, and planned on doing just that it was probably just his mom coming to check on him anyway, and he didn't want her to see him in the poor condition he was in.

Sawyer had chosen to give his mother, Sebastian and Sandra his new house while he decided to stay in the old one. He was still mourning the death of Bandit Lee, and she understood completely. She let him.

Sawyer rolled over on his couch, which had once been nice, but was now starting to sag and fade with wear and closed his eyes. He attempts to fall back asleep failed.

Whoever was pounding away at the door was a persistent little shit.

"Probably Sebastian," He muttered to himself. His little brother had proven himself to be a determined little snot when Sawyer didn't answer the door right away.

He lurched off the couch and walked toward the door. He opened it enough to reveal his massive frame and was fairly surprised to find that it wasn't Sebastian _or_ his mother at the door, but a guy he had never seen before.

The guy standing at the door appeared to be older than him; he was shorter than Sawyer by about three inches. He had golden curls and dark green eyes. In his grimy hands he was holding a dirty, white cowboy hat. He appeared a little uneasy.

"Do you mind if I come in?" He drawled, revealing a chip out of his top right tooth.

Sawyer didn't want to tell the stranger that he was in no condition to have strangers in his house, and besides something about him looked familiar. Had he met him before? He looked back to the wrecked state of the kitchen, and the rest of the run-down house and decided that he didn't give a damn what this man thought. "Sure."

Sawyer went to the kitchen, started the coffee and turned on the stove. "Are you hungry?" He asked as he cracked a few eggs into the frying pan.

"Naw."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes sir, they served me a great lunch on the train."

Sawyer paused and met the stranger's dark green eyes with his own. The train? Where had this guy come from? Was he an interviewer? "Where did you say you were from?"

The phone on the wall started to ring, his house hadn't had one when he was growing up, but he was rich now. He bought one just because he could have one. Sawyer let it ring, he hadn't answered the phone once since he had it installed. He didn't want to talk to anybody anyway.

"You gonna answer that?" The stranger drawled.

"No. I just let it ring."

The stranger looked like he had something he wanted to say to Sawyer, but didn't. Finally, tracing a coffee stain on the wooden table he said, "I'm from District Ten."

He froze, the blood turning to ice in his veins. "What's your name?"

"Louis."

He had never heard of a Louis before. "Well Louis, what is your business here?" It came out a little more snarky than he had intended, buy Sawyer couldn't help it. He just wanted to be left alone, and he didn't need some stranger from District Ten bothering him.

"I think you should come with me." He said, looking at Sawyer evenly as he rose from the rickety chair. "Forget the eggs, we'll eat on the train."

* * *

Once on the train Sawyer regretted drinking himself to sleep the night before. He had the world's worst hangover. He ate with Louis, something nagging in the back of his mind. It was Louis's familiar, yet, unfamiliar face.

"Are you sure we haven't met before?"

"Positive. You did a great job in the Games, though. You're really smart."

Sawyer found himself flashing back to the arena, remembering his most private, and intimate moments with Bandit and found himself reaching for the bottle of liquor on the table between the two of them.

"My father ain't pleased though." Louis said, trying to subtly reach for the bottle before Sawyer could reach it. He grabbed it and pulled it just out of the long-armed victor's reach.

He chuckled darkly, "Rooting for the District Four bitch? That's pretty pathetic in my opinion; not even cheering on the tributes from your own district."

Louis looked at him like he'd lost his mind. "No, pa was just prayin' for my sister to get home."

Sawyer stared at Louis from across the table, the silence stretched on while Sawyer worked to wrap his mind around what Louis had just said. "What did you just say?"

"I said that we was all prayin' for my sister to get home."

A light flickered on in the recesses of Sawyer's mind. The shape of the nose, the familiar curve of the mouth, even the hair! They all belonged to Bandit Lee Highland.

He jumped out of his chair, effectively knocking it over. "What! No! I can't—just take me home!" Louis wanted Sawyer to meet Bandit Lee's family?! Wasn't that what the Victory Tour was for?! He wasn't coping with her death himself; he couldn't handle watching other cope with it as well!

Louis watched his frantic outburst with a mild curiosity. "You might want this." He said, giving Sawyer the bottle of liquor.

He swiped it away from the smaller blonde boy, and stormed out of the car, feeling Louis's eyes burning holes into the back of his head the entire way.

* * *

Light blinded Sawyer, startling him. He thrashed about on his bunk and landed on the floor with a solid thunk, his head throbbing in pain. He opened his bloodshot eyes and glared at Louis, who was standing his back toward him, facing the window.

"Good mornin', Sleepin' Beauty." He drawled.

"What do you want?" Sawyer demanded, putting so much loathing into his voice he almost expected a laser to shoot out of his eyes and hit Louis.

"I just wanted to welcome you to District Ten." He crouched and stared at Sawyer thoughtfully. "You might want to clean up before we leave. Pa and Ma ain't very pleased with you as it is and…well; you look kind of…scruffy." He rose and strode out of the car, letting the door slide shut behind him with a dull hiss.

Sawyer stared at the door for a prolonged moment before lumbering to his feet and going to the bathroom.

As he stood in front of the mirror he couldn't believe how he looked. His blonde hair was greasy and limp, his green eyes were bloodshot and glazed over, his chin lined with blonde stubble, his skin smeared with dirt and grime, and his clothes were ratty and stained. He was sure that he smelled just as bad as he looked.

He stripped himself of the offending garments and stood in the shower, letting the hot, soapy water run over his body and cleanse off the grime. After he finished he dried off and shaved his five o'clock shadow and combed his hair. He dressed in a brown t-shirt and a pair of jeans and stared at his reflection again.

He looked a hell of a lot better than before getting in the shower. The only remnant of his dejected state was the red veins in his eyes, which had dulled a little bit, but were still rimmed with red.

Sawyer met Louis in the dining car and the exited the train and for the first time in his life, Sawyer was standing on District Ten soil.

Louis flagged down a wagon hauling grain from District Eleven down and chatted with the driver for a few minutes.

The driver stroked his long, grey beard in thought and then said, "Yeah, climb in."

Sawyer and Louis sat in the back of the wagon on top of burlap sacks of grain. The ride took about an hour before they hopped off the wagon at the end of a dirt driveway, leading to a fairly nice (and large) two story house, with an even bigger barn the back. Rolling fields stretched on for miles, and in the distance, Sawyer could see a herd of cows.

Louis gave the driver a few dollars and headed up the drive, Sawyer on his heels.

Out back of the house was a large barn, and in the paddock area in the front were a pair of horses, one white one with big sorrel splotches, and another with a grey body and dark legs, mane, tail, and face.

Louis led Sawyer up the stairs and held the screen door open for him. Sawyer stepped into the hall, feeling more nervous than he had before going into the arena. What would the Highlands think of him? Would they hate him? Would they understand that he really had loved their daughter?

slowly made his way toward the noise, his heart fluttering in his chest.

He stood in the kitchen in utter disbelief. She had been dead, her heart had quit beating, her lungs had stopped breathing and now he was staring her blonde hair against her olive shirt as she washed dishes!

Bandit Lee looked like she had filled out more since the games, like she had been eating well. It made his heart squeeze.

Sawyer found himself walking toward her, his legs moving of their own accord. He wanted nothing more than to spin her around and kiss her. Instead, he laid a large hand on her shoulder and whispered, "Bandit."

It happened so fast, one moment she had her hands up to her elbows in sudsy water, and the next she was glaring up at him, her hands clenched into dripping fists at her sides.

It took Sawyer a few seconds to put the stinging sensations spanning the left side of his face, and the suds running down it together. She had slapped him! He took a step back, bewildered. Then he put a hand to his stinging cheek and wiped away the dishwater. "What was that for?!" He demanded, aghast.

"What do you think?!" She yelled back at him, her blue eyes held fire. "Do you not know how to pick up the damn telephone?!" She shouted, her dark blue eyes starting to brim with tears. "Wouldn't you think that if I were trying to call you it wouldn't be important? This is bigger than the both of us, Sawyer Robert Coleman!" The tears were flowing freely now, down both sides of her face.

"I—I thought you were dead!"

"I was." She crossed her arms over her chest. "But, when I hit the force field, my heart stopped. When the hovercraft passed back through it the shock started my heart again."

He reached out and placed his hands on each side of her face, his thumbs wiping away the tears. "I'm sorry." He apologized. He meant it, he truly did. "If I would have known that it had been you on the phone I would have answered every time, before the first ring had finished. I have been, god," Sawyer ran a hand through his sandy hair. "I have been thinking about you nonstop since the second I believed you were dead. I didn't mean to hurt you."

Bandit glared up at him now, pulling her face away from his hands. "You don't understand." Her hands pressed flat against her naval and for the first time he studied something other than her face.

"What is that?" Sawyer asked, his mind whirring at a million miles an hour as he gently touched the bump protruding from her stomach.

"Take one guess." She said her tone daring and harsh.

"That's a baby…that's my baby." He couldn't quite wrap his head around the words he had just spoken. Sawyer swallowed the coppery taste in his mouth; he thought he was going to puke. "I don't understand."

Bandit nodded and reached for his hand, its sheer size engulfing hers. "That's your baby." She gazed up at him, her eyes beginning to brim with tears once more. "Why do you think I tried to call you? You needed to know and I needed the closure."

"I thought that…I just—how?" He stammered over his words.

"I don't know, I'm not a doctor. I think it has something to do with the fact that the only thing that had been damaged by the shock had been my heart."

"So what do we do?" Sawyer asked Bandit softly, aware of Louis and who he assumed to be Bandit's mother's eyes were locked on them.

"You can go home if you want. I just want you to know. You have the victory tour coming up, and you have a family back home." She pressed her lips together and tucked a strand of straight, blonde hair behind her small ear.

Sawyer was torn, yes. He had a family back home, but he also had a family growing _here_. He ran another hand through his hair. "Come with me to District Three." He said in a rush. "My mom would love to meet you, we could tell her that you're…" he had a hard time saying the word, "_pregnant_."

He saw the unsure look in her eyes, and then remembered how homesick she had been in the arena. "You don't have to." He told her.

I—I just need some time to think." She dried her hands on the dishtowel and threw it on the counter. "Ma' I'm headin' out to the barn!" She called.

"Bandit Lee Highland, you ain't gonna be ridin' that damned horse of yours!" Bandit's mom said, her blue eyes flashing.

"I'm not." Bandit said, rolling her eyes. She grabbed Sawyer's hand and towed him toward the front door, pausing only to put her boots on.

"Bandit!" Louis called, stopping her for a moment. "Imma' get myself a thermos full of coffee, will ya' saddle Storm up for me?"

"Yes."

"Thanks," he drawled at her, grinning.

"Where are all of the other houses?" Sawyer asked, looking around at the quietness that surrounded the High Bar Ranch.

"A few miles that way," Bandit pointed to the left, "and a few miles that way." She pointed to the right. "We're the third biggest ranch in the district, which requires a lot of land." Bandit didn't wait for him as she moved to the paddock fence and gave a whistle. "Cas!" She called.

Sawyer frowned, who was she talking to?

The horse with the dark legs and steely body trotted toward her, his head raised, his long black tail floating behind him. He stopped at the fence, opposite of Bandit Lee and nickered with affection.

"Hey, buddy." She cooed as she reached up and stroked his face. Bandit looked at Sawyer, "This is Casanova. He's my horse." She slipped a halter that had hung on the rail over his nose and handed the lead to Sawyer. "Take him. He'll be alright." She promised when she saw the dubious look he had given her. She repeated the process with sorrel and white-splotched horse. "This is Storm, he's Louis's." Bandit opened the gate and led the massive horse out.

"He's pretty big." Sawyer noted the massive difference between Casanova and Storm. Storm was taller than Casanova by six inches, and was larger in muscle mass and in fat.

"He's huge." Bandit agreed as she patted his neck. She looked so tiny in comparison, but she didn't seem the least bit scared, she seemed…comfortable.

When Sawyer led Casanova inside of the barn, the smell of dust, hay, and horse sweat assaulted his nostrils, and he smiled to himself. That was what Bandit Lee's hair had smelled like throughout the games. Obviously, the shampoos and perfumes of the Capitol had diluted it, but it seemed to be a part of her.

"Just let him go." Bandit instructed.

"What?" Sawyer asked, puzzled.

"He should stand there, just drop your lead rope and I'll come and put him in his stall."

Sawyer dropped the rope connected to the horse's halter and was surprised when Casanova stood stock still, not moving a foot. "I can just leave him here?"

"Yeah, he knows better and if he moves he gets in trouble." She noted his hesitation and said, "Go on, keep walking."

Tentatively, he moved away from the horse, which stood with all four feet firmly planted. He grinned, "That's really cool. Why is he so good?"

Bandit walked toward the horse. "It has taken years of training to refine his skill."

"Who trained him?"

"I did." She shut him in a stall and hung up the halter and lead rope. "Actually, I trained almost all of the horses on the ranch."

Sawyer moved toward her, "Really?"

She nodded, and disappeared around the corner.

"Where are you going?" He called to her, striding after her. Sawyer was about to duck into the door she had disappeared through when she emerged in front of him, wrestling with a heavy leather saddle. Naturally, he reached down and took the saddle from her, a little startled at its weight. "I'll carry this for you."

"You don't have to."

"I don't want you to hurt yourself," His green eyes drifted her belly. "Or the baby."

She sighed. "The doctor said it was okay if I rode, I just ain't allowed to fall off. Ma won't let me leave the house most of the time. She's smotherin' me!"

Sawyer was fascinated with how with nimble, well-practiced movements she fastened the saddle to Storm's back. She was hardly looking at her hands, she was too busy ranting. Absently, he handed her a bridle when she asked for it. It was too incredible to watch her in her natural environment, the one she grew up in.

"Don't even bother!" A shrill voice drawled from the barn door. A small girl, with chin-length brown hair came stomping into the barn; her spurs making her steps seem harsher. A horse blacker than the night followed behind her, making her seem even smaller. "We're finished now an' Louis can saddle his own damn horse!"

"Dale, watch your mouth." Bandit said, moving out of Storm's stall, her arms crossed over her chest.

Another kid followed Dale into the barn; his dark brown hair fell almost to his shoulders in a few curls. Behind him a bay horse followed quietly, his blue eyes met Sawyer's gaze, and he let a small smile lilt his features.

Dale threw her horse into a stall and turned, seeing Sawyer for the first time. She stomped up to him, her face turning red with rage. "You!" She slapped him across the face, leaving it stinging.

"Dale!" Bandit shouted.

"What, you cain't expect me to jus' stand there after what he did!"

"It was an act of two people, Dale." The other guy said with roll of his blue eyes. "Bandit Lee didn't know that she was coming out of the arena. If you can't remember correctly, she ain't even supposed to be alive."

Dale crossed her arms and narrowed her light green eyes. "Fine, but I ain't bein' nice to him." She turned on her heel and stomped out.

"Don't mind her." The guy said. He held out his hand—the one not holding his horse's reins—for Sawyer to shake. "I'm Flynt."

A bell sounded from the front porch of the house. Mrs. Highland called out for the world to hear that supper was ready.

"I'm starving!" Bandit exclaimed.

Sawyer held her hand and followed her out of the barn, but he pulled her off to the side, away from the house. "There's been something I've wanted to do since the moment I saw you." He admitted.

"What's that?" She asked, her brow furrowed.

He cupped her face in his hands, like he had so many times in the arena and knelt down to kiss her. He placed a tender kiss on her lips and stood back up, grinning. "That."

Her face flushed scarlet. "Let's go. Ma's gonna be in fits."

They all gathered around the wooden table in the Highland's kitchen. When a tall man with brown hair that needed a cut, and facial stubble walked in, another smaller man behind him, he looked right at Sawyer, his green eyes expressionless.

Bandit kicked Sawyer's shin under the table.

"Oh!" He exclaimed, jumping up. That man must be Bandit Lee's dad. He strode up to Bandit's father and held out his hand. "Hello, Mr. Highland. I'm Sawyer Coleman…I'm the one that messed up and got your daughter pregnant."

"Mark." The man replied a little stiffly, but he shook Sawyer's hand anyway. "You sure did mess up, son. We had to go an' hire another hand 'cause my daughter can't ride." He moved to the sink to wash his hands, leaving a slight young man—probably around Louis's age—standing.

Sawyer was floored by his appearance. He looked like an older version of Cyril, he had the same, feather, dark brown hair, the same dark chocolate eyes, and the same baked-by-the-sun skin.

"My name is Thomas." He said holding out his hand. When Sawyer didn't accept it right away he frowned. "Did I do something offensive?"

Sawyer shook his head. "Sorry," he thrust his hand out toward Thomas. "You just look like somebody I know—well, _knew_."

Thomas gave a slight, sad smile. "Cyril Schist was my baby brother. You competed against him in the games this year."

Oh, that was where he was recognizable. "I thought you were from District Nine?"

"After losing my parents and then Cyril, I decided that the memories were too painful back home. I moved here, and Mr. Highland employed me, well, with Bandit being pregnant and all."

"It was nice to meet you." Sawyer said, before taking his place next to Bandit.

"Alright, ya'll." Mrs. Highland said, setting a cast iron pot in the middle of the stove. "Dig in."

It was incredible how at home Sawyer felt in a complete stranger's home. Everybody was laughing, talking, and eating. Louis, Sawyer realized, was incredibly funny. Flynt was incredibly intelligent, Thomas was incredibly timid, and Dale was incredibly vicious—almost like Lindsey had been. Even then, Louis would say something that would make her chuckle, or crack a smile.

"I have something I'd like to say." Bandit Lee said, making everybody pause. All eyes were on her. She took a deep breath, gently pressed a hand to her large stomach and said, "I'm going to be going to District Three with Sawyer."

There was a loud explosion of everybody trying to talk over each other at once.

"You can't!" Dale exclaimed.

"Yes she can!" Flynt snapped at her.

Mrs. Highland was going on about the baby, while Louis was trying to say something but couldn't be heard over the din.

Sawyer was just as shocked as everybody else. He hadn't thought that Bandit would have been able to make up her mind so quickly. Even if she had, he'd been almost positive that she would have chosen to stay in District Ten with her family.

"Aw hell!" Mark exclaimed, bringing his fist down upon the table. "She can't do ranch work because she's havin' a baby, but that don't mean she can't leave the house. As far as I'm concerned, Bandit is an adult and if she wants to District Three to meet Sawyer's mother and family then I ain't gonna stop her. She's going," He looked at everybody around the table and silenced Mrs. Highland with an, "and that's final!"


	46. Chapter 46: The End

_**District 3, Sawyer Coleman**_

Sawyer sighed in discomfort. What was his own mother going to say to him? He hadn't talked to her for months, not since he told her that she could live in his new house in Victor's Village.

"What's wrong?" Bandit asked at his side.

"Nothing." He lied.

"I can tell you're stressed out." She told him. She placed a gentle hand on his arm. "You run your hand through your hair when you're panicking. Why are you freakin' out? This can't be any more stressful than meetin' my dad—who had hated you until he met you, by the way."

"I haven't talked to my mom in months." He admitted. I locked myself away in my old house and drank myself senseless each night. I didn't want he to see me like that."

She looked up at him and fidgeted with the hem of her sundress. "Are you going to knock? Or are we going to stand out here all day and hope she opens the door herself?"

Sawyer didn't answer her.

Bandit huffed and knocked on the door three times. "Was that so hard?"

"It isn't the knocking that is going to stress me out." He told her. "It's what she is going to say to me."

The door opened and a little girl with blonde ponytails squealed and launched himself into his arms. "Sawyer!" She cried.

Sawyer laughed and hugged Sandra tight to him. "Sandy! Oh, I've missed you _so _much!" He spun his little sister around in a circle, enjoying the way she squealed with delight.

"Mom! Sawyer's here!" She called.

Shelly Coleman wiped her hands on her apron, concerned as to why her daughter was shrieking, but when she saw Sawyer, a grin spread slowly across her face. "Sebastian!" She called, before flinging herself into her son's arms.

Sawyer put Sandra down before wrapping his arms around his mom.

"Where have you been?" She asked him, near tears.

"I've been home, but I was still upset. Then, a guy came to the house and took me to District Ten…" He looked at Bandit Lee and offered her a smile. "Mom, this is Bandit Lee Highland, from District Ten."

"I thought you were dead!" Shelly said, wrapping the stranger up into a hug.

Sawyer watched as Bandit stiffened at the contact, but warmed up to it in a moment. "I was." Bandit told Sawyer's mom. "For roughly ten minutes, but I'm here now."

Sebastian stood into the doorway, his horned lizard perched on his shoulder. When he saw Sawyer his mouth stretched into a broad grin.

"Come inside!" Shelly urged, ushering all of them inside.

"You have a lovely home, Mrs. Coleman." Bandit said as she sat next to Sawyer in the kitchen. Sawyer had only been in this kitchen a handful of times, and the way his mother kept it spotless, but homey was amazing.

"Thank you, Bandit. Would you like some tea?"

Bandit shook her head. "My stomach is a little upset today; I'm worried I'd end up throwing up."

"I saw that you have a baby on the way. Is the father somebody from your district?"

_Well, this is awkward_, Sawyer thought to himself. "Actually, mom…" he pushed a hand through his hair. "It's mine."

She dropped her coffee mug in the porcelain sink, causing it to break. "What?"

"Mom, during the Hunger Games, Bandit and I—we—we did something stupid, and now she's pregnant."

Shelly turned to face her son, and for a moment Sawyer was worried that she was going to be angry. Seeing his mother angry was something he didn't see very often, it was rare and its occurrences were far and few between. She looked at little mad, but she took a deep breath and said, "It looks like you have a lot of responsibility on your hands, Sawyer Robert Coleman."

"I know, mom." He admitted.

Sebastian pulled up a chair across from Sawyer, his pale blonde hair was combed now, but he still had his pet lizard in his lap. "I'm too young to be an uncle." He said scowling at his older brother. "I'm only twelve!"

"Sandy is only eight." Sawyer told his younger brother.

"Don't call me that, Sawyer!" His little sister said, her scowl making her resemble Sebastian very much. She moved to the table and plucked the lizard off of her brother's lap. "Smaug will eat you!"

"Sandy give him back!" Sebastian scolded, taking the rather large lizard out of Sandra's hands.

"Sebastian," Shelly said, wiping her forehead. "What did I tell you about bringing Smaug to the table?"

Sebastian rolled his dark green eyes and left the room, probably to put the lizard back where he belonged.

"It's good to be home, mom." Sawyer said, he clasped Bandit's hand in his own. "It feels great."

Sawyer rolled over in his bed, he had taken Bandit Lee back to his old house, where the pair of them cleaned everything up and made everything in working condition again. He stared into her dark blue eyes and smiled at her, "Good morning."

She smiled back at him, lightly. "Good morning," Her voice was dry and cracking with sleep.

"How do you feel?" He asked gathering her up in his arms and pulling her against him.

"After yesterday, I feel pretty good."

Sawyer felt his face flush. His house had been pretty nasty after weeks—months—of neglect, when they were cleaning Bandit had to rush to the bathroom to vomit quite a few times. "Sorry about that." He said sheepishly.

"It's a pregnancy thing." She murmured.

* * *

They lay wrapped up I each other's arms, relishing the silence and the birds chirping out of the window. Finally, Bandit said, "Do you know what the chances of getting pregnant the first time you have sex are?"

"Huh uh," he said into her neck.

"Not very good, it isn't very common."

He sat up, twisting his body so he could look at her. "So are we lucky? Or cursed?"

"Maybe both." She said smiling at him, her hands resting on her baby bump.

Sawyer pressed his hands to her stomach, too. "You're coming on the victory tour with me…right?"

"I don't know."

"You_ have_ to; I want to be there for you and the baby. I'm going to take care of both of you, forever and ever. Until the day I die. I mean it. I don't care if that means I have to move to District Ten to raise a little cowgirl or cowboy. I don't care where we go, as long as we're with each other." He pressed his lips to hers gently, because he meant it. Every single word.


	47. Abandoning Faith

_**Hi guys, some of you wanted the prequels of the characters. The first four are in a new story called "Abandoning Faith: The prequel to Abandoning Hope, the 80th Hunger Games". Unlike in Abandoning Hope, these will run in order of the Districts. Please check it out and tell me what you think! I recommend reading them, some of them made my friend cry!**_


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